The Second Erusian War
by Seraphear-1
Summary: It is 2024. The ISAF government has become repressive of its subjects, the Usean peoples, and war seems imminent. A garrison of rebels breaks away, forcing a conflict that will leave all sides shattered and torn.
1. Chapter 1: The Seraph Descends

"Whew! Finally!" I let out a sigh of relief after stepping out of the cramped bus. I looked around the place we had come to a stop at, and saw many others getting off the other few shuttle buses. "Where are we? I don't recognize this place…" I muttered aloud.

"I'd say it's a safe bet to say we're still in Erusea."

I turned to look for the voice that had said this. My eyes fell upon the man who had sat behind me on the bus, a rowdier, younger man than myself. "Oh really?" I responded sarcastically, "I had no idea, what with that sign saying 'Erusian Military Property' over there." "Chill out man, just kiddin' ya," the other man said, "This is some air base, I don't really know where we are either."

"Great. Just-" My sentence was interrupted when an Erusian official began talking on a megaphone. "Can I have your attention, everyone, please!" he called, "I welcome you to Spire Air Force Base. You men --and women-- are to be trained as pilots here, to serve in Erusea's newest elite squadrons." A murmur ran through the mob of people. They had signed up for a civilian training course! But now they were going to be actual military pilots? Despite having been deceived, the people were overjoyed at hearing this. "We have been studying your past achievements with civilian aircraft and have decided that you fifty are to go on to the next level. Please follow me, if you will," he finished. Five of the pilots turned around and demanded to be returned home. Everyone else, however, was intrigued by the offer, one never heard of anywhere else! And besides, after having been cramped in that bus for hours, why not stretch your legs? They walked through the heavily guarded gates onto a tarmac in front of three tremendous hangars.

"What do they got in there, the demon of Razgriz itself?" It was the young guy again. "That's just a fairy tale, they probably just have cargo planes in there or something," I told him. Then we were cut off again; another man with another megaphone.

"Welcome pilots, to your new temporary home," he said in a rather raspy voice. "Ugh. That'll get annoying," the kid said. Kid, that'll probably be his nickname. The official went on, "We have here a little test, nothing big, that will help us determine which of three squadrons you will be placed in. These squads are the Seraph, Blue Angels, and Red Devils."

"What? Seraph? Angels? What kinda names are those! That sucks, I hope I get in the Devil squad," complained the kid. "What does it matter? If you're any good, then you can make your squad the most feared no matter what its name is," I explained, then, in a whisper, "Look at that ribbon guy from the Continental War."

"IF I'm any good! Gee, thanks, bud." "You're missing the point." "I got the point loud and clear man…"

I shook my head and turned to look at the officials. They were handing out the tests. Kid and I got ours fairly slowly, so I set off working on it immediately… when I noticed the kid looking over my shoulders. "Uh… you don't mind me copying answers do you? I want a familiar face in my squad," he said slowly. "You barely know me. And can't you answer them yourself? What if my answers end up getting me in the Angel squad? Eh?" I jeered at him. He was unmoved, to say the least, and kept right on copying.

You are chasing a bandit when he dives into a canyon to evade you. You:

a) Follow him.

b) Break off and wait for him.

c) Keep your distance, attack from out of the ravine.

"What kinda question is that?" I thought to myself, "I guess I'd follow him. A jet should be able to maneuver well enough in a canyon, right?" I circled 'A.' The kid did the same. "Okay, next question…"

When a battle goes wrong, you:

a)Fight to the last plane!

b)Retreat once there's no other option but to fight to your death.

c)Ensure your allies retreat first, then yours.

"Uh…" The kid was struggling with this one. He turned to me and asked, "Do you think that ensuring your allies retreat first would be angelic?" "What?" "Do you think if I put this answer down, that it'll get me in one of those dumbly named squads?" I just stared at him, so he looked at my answer instead, 'C.' "Aw, c'mon man, I wasn't gonna put that answer!" "Then don't copy me!" I shouted back. Next question…

You are chasing an enemy through a turn. You want to bring him in range of your guns. You:

a) Accelerate.

b) Perform a low speed yo-yo.

c) Just wait…

"Hmm…if you accelerate you'll probably crash right into him! And what exactly is a yo-yo anyway?" I thought. "Guess that means 'C.' This was probably the only answer so far that the kid didn't complain about copying.

A wingman is shot down but ejects. You are low on fuel/ammo, and the chopper to pick him/her up is taking its time, cutting your linger time dangerously low. You:

a) Wait for the chopper to pick him up, running the risk of crashing yourself.

b) Return to base once the chopper is close enough.

c) One of _my_ wingmen shot down! Yeah right!

"I don't think 'C' is too good an answer here… 'A' is probably the best," I muttered. "You're just trying to get me into one of the stupid squads, aren't ya man?" I ignored him. On to the next question…

Your favorite tactic for taking out a bandit:

a) Stiff-arm them!

b) Dogfight it out!

c) They never knew you were there…

I stared at choice 'B' for a few seconds, debating whether or not to choose that answer, since I had no idea what a dogfight was. But pretty soon kid's head started to lean towards my paper, so I ended up circling that letter. Right, next…

You would rather fly:

a) A plane manufactured in your homeland.

b) An exported plane from an ally.

c) An exported plane from a neutral nation.

This one seemed to be based on trust, who would you trust to make your plane? I wasn't one for planes from allies or other nation at all, so I answered 'A.'

Your aircraft's color scheme would be:

a) Something that draws attention.

b) Something that strikes fear into the enemies' hearts!

c) Something less noticeable.

"Hey man, why are you putting 'C?'" Without even looking up I replied, "To make you stop copying." Okay, last question…

Your callsign would be:

a) Terrifying to the enemy!

b) Something that gives hope to any allies.

c) One that is not easily forgotten…

"Seriously, what do they expect outta this?" I pondered. Might as well choose 'B.' It seems like a response that'll get me into one of the Angel squads. That'll piss the kid off. I must have smirked, because the kid noticed. "Gees, not again… whatever, if you want to be a stupid angel dude…" He rolled his eyes and circled 'B' as well.

We handed in our tests. Slowly, everyone finished, and then we all sat and chatted while the officials 'graded' them. I turned to the kid and asked, "Did you copy _all_ my answers on that test?" "Yeah, I said I would, didn't I? Oh, no, I didn't…" "All fifteen answers? I swear kid." "Kid? That's what you're calling me! My name's James Ericks, I'll have you know. I'm 24 years old, hardly a kid." This surprised me; he was only a year younger than me, yet he looked no older than twenty. "Ericks," I repeated, "Okay, so I won't call you kid anymore." "Thanks. And you are?" James asked. "Aaron. Aaron… Thatcher," I lied. Thatcher had been my mother's maiden name, and I wasn't sure why I told him it instead. "Aaron, eh? Well, Aaron, who else do you think is gonna be in our squad? Hopefully that chick over there, she's hot, did you see her?" he rambled on, but I paid no real attention to him. I was looking around at these other pilots, seeing quite the motley crew of people here. Some older than me, a few younger, including James, then, there was another pilot who sat alone. He was watching me, I know it, from the nearest hangar. He was leaning against the wall of it, looking right through me. He didn't seem to notice my eyes returning the stare.

The official stood up again. He began to call out names, and the pilots one by one rose and walked towards the desk, then were sent off to one of the three hangars. Not ten people had gone when James name came up. I heard him muttering "Not Angel. Not Seraph. Devil. Please, Devil, please!" When he came walking back towards a hangar, he stopped by me with a look of disgust. "Thanks bud! Seraph, that's the squad we're in! Good answers man!" He stormed off. They called me eventually, using the name 'Thatcher.' I remembered signing up under that name, but couldn't think of why.

I walked up to the desk. A man sitting there hastily wrote down my name, age, and gender on a piece of paper divided into three columns. My information went into the first one, marked 41st Squadron, which I guess meant the Seraph. Another handed me a metal pin, two wings with the word 'Seraph' and the number '41st' emblazoned on it. So I was right. He told me I was now Seraph 8, and was to go to hangar three. I made my way there, and when I walked in, my eyes met with fifteen brand-spanking new planes, giant ones, maybe 70 feet long or so, with these weird, backwards wings. All were painted light gray and blue. I couldn't help but stare. Fifteen. Fifteen of these aircraft…whatever they were. I spotted Ericks and walked over to him, keeping one eye on those beauties.

"Like 'em? That guy told me they're Su-47, uh, Berkuts, I think," he called, "And we get them. They're ours." He laughed at my expression upon hearing that, and went running down the way, even doing a heel click at one point. "Wonder what the other squads are piloting." I mused aloud when he came skipping back. "No idea. But, I take back what I said, man! No matter what our name is, we most definitely get the best planes!" "It's the plane you two chose yourselves to fly. That's what the test was all about," a civilian pilot said, walking up to us, "I am Captain Jones, but you'll know me better as Seraph 1." We shook hands, and he introduced us to the rest of the squad that was already there. "We are to start training tomorrow," Jones began, "Classes of course, no real piloting…" I again found myself not paying attention. Some other pilots had meandered in, and now I realized that the latest one to be assigned here was the shifty character who had been staring at me earlier. I walked up to him and asked him his name.

"It's Arthur Richardson," he responded, taking his time, "Seraph 10." "Why were you staring at me earlier?" "I was…interested in your discourse with the…other pilot." "Other pilot? Man, no one gives me respect around here…" James had heard him. I was going to accuse Richardson of lying, I could tell he was, but James had interrupted me. Now the two sized each other up, or, rather, Arthur was just blankly stared at Ericks. The tension was broken however, when another pilot accidentally tripped and fell into Ericks, knocking the two of them down. "Hey man! Watch it!" "Sorry, I fell, and, uh, yeah…" This pilot was younger than even Ericks, only twenty or so. I saw that only one other pilot had entered after Brian, before this guy. "So he's Seraph 12?" I thought, "How many are there? Fifteen right? But were they counting on five people leaving?"

Eventually all the pilots, fifteen indeed, had arrived. The last was obviously the youngest, a timid teenager, just barely over the age of eighteen. Another official stood up, introduced himself as the squad adjutant. He said that we were to be lead to our dorms for the night. He then made a speech about what was in store for us.

"You fifteen men (there were, as I noticed, no female pilots in the squad) are to be trained round the clock on this aircraft, the Su-47 Berkut, one of the best air superiority planes in the world today. You will learn the ins, outs, and everything else about it before you ever take to the skies. Then you will receive top training in your field, including maneuvers, G-suppression techniques, and some other more advanced things that a regular flight academy wouldn't teach you. Tomorrow marks the beginning of your jet fighter education. After you graduate the school, you will be trained to your limits in your aircraft by the best aces in the FEAF. By the end of your training here, you will have a natural innate advantage over any other pilots, as you will know the boundaries of your aircraft and yourself better than anyone else knows about himself, even…the ribbon. Keep in mind, this whole affair is top secret, and only you and the men and women of our staff on this base know about it. You are forbidden to speak to anyone about this without clearance. Do I make myself clear?"

A unanimous 'Yes.' The adjutant frowned. "That's 'Yes, sir!' you got it!" "Yes sir!" "Good, that's better, there's hope for you nuggets yet…"

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We were led to our dorms, everyone talking excitedly about the day and what our classes will be like. We were joined by the other pilots for dinner after we memorized our dorm number, and I found out (through Ericks) that the other squads would be flying F-22s and F/A-18s. That, of course, meant nothing to me; I knew nothing about military aircraft, especially not fighters. The Blue Angels, the guys piloting F-18s, seemed to be the happiest of all of us. None of us or any of the Devils could figure out why. Wasn't the F-18 really outdated? All of the people around me seem to believe so, and thus that became my opinion as well. I was wondering how I was going to succeed here with no knowledge in the least when it came to aircraft, and who might be able to teach me.

When I got to my room, everything I had packed for the flight school was there. I was sharing the dorm with Seraph 9. He's a nice guy, no real way to describe him, he just…blends in. That's probably why I didn't notice him when he came into the hangar. He told me that he had served in the Continental War, but only as a cargo pilot. He had been shot down near Comberth Harbor while delivering supplies and was captured and imprisoned by local people. They released him to ISAF detainment when they invaded and captured the area. He said he had never flown for the military since.

I settled into bed that night uneasy, wondering about the Angels' F-18s, the previous war, my new wingmen, my aircraft, my real training, my…

Jet engines roared periodically outside. Jet fighters taking off, none of them coming back or landing. Where were they going?


	2. Chapter 2: Rebellion

"Last call!"

The barkeep's call went unheeded by the few drunken men still in the bar. They were arguing amongst themselves about the recent corruption that had been growing in the ISAF ever since the Continental War. Crime had gone up dramatically, budgets for important things like law enforcement, medicine, social security, and on, were all cut. "They're using the common peoples like pigs. They'll be slaughtering and eating us tomorrow, I tell you!" a man exclaimed, he wore three stripes on a patch on his sleeve.

"Eh. Drunk military men, great." The barkeep thought, "Haven't had any like this since the occupation so long ago." "C'mon guys, he said last call," his wife, the only other person helping him in the bar, said to the men. "Oh, shut up! We'll leave when we want to," jeered one of the men, "Anyway, I think…" He took a swig of his beer. "…That we should…uh…" He fell unconscious. The other men laughed their heads off. One got up and started kicking him in the side, checking if he was still alive. "Great. Just terrific," the barkeep muttered to himself, "If only he was still around, keeping men like this away, him and his squad." "That was twenty years ago honey," my wife said softly, "You know he's gone. There's nothing we can do about it." "I know damn well he's dead, we buried that handkerchief together." She sighed and went back to cleaning the tables and bar. If only he _were_ here…

"You know, ol' Mattock told me earlier, what 'e wanted to do." The officer that said this swayed in place as he spoke. "He's thinkin' of rebellin'. Forming an alliance among branches o' the military." "Rebel against the ISAF? Bloody damn good idea!" another spoke up. Rebellion. These men could be dangerous, the barkeep told to himself. What should I do? Report them? No. Maybe if war comes again, then this old café will get overrun by another elite squadron. Ha! Look at me, wishing that war would be declared so I can get rid of a few drunks. But business is going downhill. The Sky Kid isn't too popular anymore… "Haha, yeah, I bet O…O-see-uh would be for us!" one stated. "Yeah, since they're allies an' all, right? Then the Y-Y-Yukes would 'elp the Oceans! It's a damn brilliant plan!" The men roared with laughter again.

The barkeep looked at the calendar. February 14, 2024. No, it was past midnight, the fifteenth. He turned again towards the men. They seemed to have at last reached a decision, and were getting up to leave. "At last, it's nearly one o'clock," he thought. He watched them lift their dead drunk buddy and carry him out, then locked the door behind them and set about helping his wife finish the cleaning.


	3. Chapter 3: War Games

Aaron sat up, turned off the blaring alarm clock, got dressed in his flight suit. It was the same thing every morning, for the last few years. He saw it was February 18, 2024, two years after he arrived here at Spire AB. His squad was nearing the end of their training and graduation was in a month. He yawned and headed towards the mess hall, trailed by Seraph 9. He immediately chose a seat by Seraph 5, James, who had quickly become his best friend over the years they'd been training together.

"So, what's up for today?" he asked groggily, his hand groping for toast. "Mock dogfights again. But this time it's inter-squad," came the response from Ericks. "Oh? We'll be mmfffgging the Angels and Mmmphhevils?" Aaron questioned, his mouth full of food. "Not so sure I recognize those squads, eight," laughed the man sitting on the left of Aaron, Seraph 10. "We're up against the Devils, then the Angels. Time to see why they love their F-18s, eh?" "Excellent," Aaron replied, having swallowed, "I'm tired of beating the Black and Blue squads black and blue!" The others laughed, and Seraph 2 shouted across the table, "Yeah, right. I guess we'll have to knock those Angels' egos down a notch then? Can't wait!" He and several others laughed, while some of the Angels that heard them scowled.

Afterwards they all walked onto the tarmac, each to their respective planes. Forty-five aircraft sat on the tarmac, fifteen Su-47s, fifteen F/A-18s, and fifteen F-22s. It was the first time any of the pilots had seen another one of the squads' planes up close. When he saw the Angels' F-18s, Ericks went into one of his now famous stares. The aircraft was painted a nice deep blue with yellow paint emblazoning each aircraft's number, pilot name, squad name, and squad number. "Like them? Too bad you're stuck flying such ugly aircraft, I can't tell which way you're going!" It was one of the Angels, number four, according to his flight suit. Ericks's comeback was immediate, "Too bad we've got to shoot such beautiful aircraft down!" Of course, immediate comebacks often tend to suck. Four just laughed and walked down the flight line.

"Cocky bastard, isn't he? I'd like to take him out. I swear man," Ericks grumbled again. "Don't start with this. We'll see how he backs it up in the sky," Aaron told his wingman, "But first we've got the Devils to deal with."

He turned to see the line of F-22s. The color scheme surprised him, black on top with red highlights, and blood red on the bottom. "Damn! I bet that's the scheme they meant on the test, remember? 'My paintjob strikes fear into the hearts of enemies,' or whatever. Man, how come we got plain old gray?" Ericks went on complaining. Eventually everyone had climbed into their jets, so the Seraph and Devils took turns taxiing and taking off. Seraph 8 watched as 5 took off and headed for the designated battle zone, above an abandoned factory. He waited his turn then drove the aircraft out. "Seraph 8, you are cleared for takeoff." "Roger tower. See ya later!" He put his engines on full power and blasted down the runway. Pulling back on the stick, he felt gravity give way. The Seraph had ascended into the blue skies again…

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"Devil 6, got one on your tail."

Aaron maneuvered easily behind the F-22, his Berkut twisting and turning to match the Devil. He 'armed' his dummy missiles. "Seraph 8, missile inbound, break!" "What? Oh, sh-!" He broke off his attack and jinked left. The 'missile' missed, but the distraction had allowed the Devil to slip away. "Where are you…where'd you go," he said, scanning the skies for number six. He rolled 90 degrees and looked down. Below him, coming straight up, was an F-22. "Oh crap, let's move plane!" He gunned the afterburners but that just helped Devil 6 get behind him. A missile alert tone. "Seraph 8, don't get yourself killed!" "I know 5!" They were already down several aircraft, the Devils had the advantage. "I'll stop this right now." He started into a barrel roll just in time. The simulated missile flew right past. He accelerated, waiting. Sure enough, 6 followed him. "Idiot. Never follow a Seraph." He immediately cut the A/Bs and went into a scissoring maneuver. The Devil overshot, right into a well-placed burst of rounds from the Sukhoi's gun. "Whooooeeee! Splash one bandit!" The Devil broke off and returned to base.

"8, get over here and help me!" a frantic voice called over the radio, Seraph 13. He had several bandits engaging him. "Hang on, be right there!" Too late, it was too much for the kid. He went down from three missiles at once. Now there were three Devils attacking Seraph 8. "Oh shit!" He dodged a volley of simulated missiles and pulled behind one of the Devils. A sudden burst of Vulcan fire from below him damaged his plane slightly. "Crap. CRAP!" he yelled, there was not much he could do against three opponents. He banked hard, went zipping past one of the 22s. "Well, that was close, I'll probably get yelled at for that…" He refocused on the Raptor in front of him. "Fox 2!" A hit! The pilot had done little to avoid it, not knowing what had happened to the Seraph pilot. Two still left, Aaron told himself, don't slow down yet.

He now realized there was a bandit behind and in front of him, coming head-on. Classic, he thought. He simply pulled a Hook turn and the lost his pursuers. Regaining speed that was bled off during the maneuver, he spotted one of the Raptors, and moved in for the kill. His wingman spotted the Berkut too late to help, and another kill was attributed to Seraph 8. He turned after the third Devil, who disengaged and looked for an easier target to take out.

"Pansy. Alright, who's left?" Aaron looked at his radar, there were only a few targets left, and all were engaging allies. "Crap. Who do I get? All right, nevermind. All remaining Seraph, respond." "What do ya want 8! Argh, get this guy offa me!" Aaron grinned. Seraph 5 was still with him. "This is Seraph 1, what's the matter 8?" his flight lead said, calmly taking out the Raptor he had been toying with. "I don't have anyone to fight!" "Heh heh, that happens when you're the best, kid. Go help out five, he sounds desperate." "Right. Hear that five, I'll be saving your ass again." He turned after the Red Devil on Ericks's tail.

"Alright, I've got tone, hang on five." Aaron was swerving around behind the Devil's aircraft. "This is Devil 1, I'm spiked! Get him off me!" "Devil 1, huh? The lead, this'll help us out," Seraph 8 thought. He just had to get him over a little more….there! "Fox 1!" "This is base, that's a kill, RTB Devil 1."

"You'll pay for that one day, Seraph…" Eight dove after the next bandit. This one had a lock on Seraph 1, and was paying so much attention to the edgy plane at his 12 o'clock that he never saw Aaron coming down at six.

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The three Seraph landed last in high spirits. Completely ignoring the tower's threats and warnings, they all landed together in an arrowhead shape formation. These Seraph, namely 1, 5, and 8, were victorious. The Devils had fallen apart once eight took out their lead. They had scored a great victory, or at least, they thought so. The adjutant was waiting for them. "Fifteen went up. Three returned. How great is that boys?" he asked, in a most rhetoric and sarcastic manner. Ericks smirk disappeared. "Hey man, we kicked A all over the sky!" "That's interesting Ericks. Cause it seems like you were doing nothing but screaming for help all damn day." "Uh, well, I…" "Sir, Ericks downed three Red Devils. More than most of the other pilots. Did you give them a hard time too?" Aaron calmly asked. "Thatcher, I'll have you know that things like that mean that the next time you takeoff from that runway, you might be on board a civilian airliner, finally getting you out of my face." "Thank you sir for informing me!" he responded casually. The adjutant just scowled and walked away muttering to himself.

There was a tense silence between the three men. Then… "Wow man, that was awesome!" "Are you kidding me? Thatcher, as your lead, you pull something like that again, and _I'll_ demote you. And I don't mean just rank." "Right. Sir." "C'mon you knuckleheads, the rest of the squad probably will want to hear about 8's battle with three of those Devils." "Ah, yeah, we'll need some rest before we go up against the Angels. Let's go _Thatcher_!" Ericks emphasized the last word. Aaron reacted by chasing him to the mess hall.

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"Ugh, already…" "Let's go Ericks. Get to your plane." The Seraph pilots were finishing lunch and walking slowly to the flight line for the fight against the Blue Angels. Ericks was being a little uncooperative. "I'm too tired…" "Well, okay, I guess I'll have to tell Angel 4 you wimped out." Ericks was at his plane so fast that anyone could only have guessed that he had teleported there.

As he prepared to board his plane, Aaron felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see that it was Seraph 10. "Eight, you've seen the Angels' Hornets right? Well I think I might have figured out why they love them so much." Aaron followed his wingman to where some of the Hornets were parked. "Take a look at their nozzles." They were quite literally drooping, a good twenty degrees down. Aaron understood immediately. These Hornets were an upgrade, they had 3-D thrust vectoring capabilities.

Once in the air, eight warned the squad about what he had seen. "Thrust vectoring eh? No prob, man!" was the carefree response from five. There had been no previous knowledge of any Hornet upgrades before however, and the rest of the squad remained silent, not knowing what to expect in the upcoming battle. He formed up to the right of Seraph 6, his place in the five-man formation. The fifteen Seraph planes were broken into three groups of five, led by Seraph 1, 6, and 11. When they arrived at the engagement zone, the Angels were in two patterns of six planes and a group of three flying high cover.

"Seraph 1 here, all units engage, enemy at 12 high in a champagne formation." The Seraph planes broke and trailed separate targets. Seraph 8 was already on one's tail. An easy kill, he thought, this is just pathetic. Suddenly the Hornet reared up and seemed to stop in mid-air! "Oh, hell!" Aaron shouted, swerving to avoid a mid-air collision. A Cobra. That guy just performed a perfect Cobra. "Seraph 8, break right!" "Huh? Whoa!" A near-miss from the Angel's missile. But no matter, the Angel had bled off a lot of speed in that maneuver and couldn't keep up with the Berkut. Seraph 8 whipped his jet around and stiff-armed his opponent. He let a missile fly at the last second and pulled his craft up. "Nice kill 8. Angel 13 is down." "Roger, base! Yeah!" he shouted.

Aaron turned after another pilot. "This is Angel 4, 7, get him off me!" the pursued Angel called. "Negative 4, I can't help right now!" a female pilot's voice responded. The Angel's movements became frantic, jinking, scissoring, Hooks, whatever he tried, failed. Seraph 8 stayed on his tail, concentrating only on the Hornet in his sights. He paid no attention to the radio chatter, it just mattered that he kill Angel 4, for his own pride. "Seraph 8, Fox 2!" "Haha! Idiot!" the Angel called. His plane jerked up into a Cobra, dodging the missile. But then it kept going up. Aaron watched dumbstruck above and behind him as he flew right under the jet as it climbed slowly, then brought its nose back down, resting comfortably high on his tail. "Holy shit! What kinda maneuver was that!" he shouted out. A missile tone. He popped off a few flares, but to little avail. "Missile impact close to Seraph 8's wing. Light damage taken," said an observer at base. At least I'm not dead yet, Aaron thought. The Angel was on his tail, but not for long. 8 began into a spiraling dive. Angel 4 followed right on down, but the Berkut's turning radius was smaller. The ground rushed up to meet the pilots, but Seraph 8 was already regaining his advantage. "Thank God for forward swept wings!" he called, resuming his previous position behind Angel 4. Four reacted by pulling out of the dive, trying to shake off eight. He even deployed flares and chaff to confuse eight's missiles as well as eight himself. But Aaron stayed with it, and his missile tone did not waver. He had him, just a little more… a few more inches…almost…got him!

"Seraph 8 is dead."

"Wait, what? Huh?" he looked around and spotted Angel 7 slowly descending behind him. "Got ya," she called out. "Thanks for the idea eight." "Son of a-" Aaron dived below the simulated hard deck and returned to base.

"About time seven." "Sorry four, had to deal with that pesky number 10. Nice Cobra Strike by the way, and sorry I couldn't get here sooner." "Pah, I had it under control, I was just waiting for you." Seraph 8 turned off the radio, angry and disgusted.

"Crap, how did I not notice the missile tone!" Aaron yelled at himself. There was still quite a large amount of aircraft in the sky over the battleground; he had been the third Seraph downed. Third. "Shit!" He punched the ejector seat he had been sitting on for so short a time today. He would have had to use it. Besides, that had been the same maneuver he used to take out one of the Devils earlier. He sighed and turned on the radio, listening to the battle he had just left. "Seraph 5, splash one! Yeah!" "Angel 2, Fox 2!" "Seraph 15, hard left!" "This is Angel 3, 11 was shot down!" But then a new message came, interrupting the other transmissions.

"Attention all Seraph and Blue Angel pilots. Cancel engagement and return to base. I repeat, stand down and come back immediately. War has been declared. Refuel, rearm, and get back in the air. This is the real thing."


	4. Chapter 4: Between Birds and Angels

We were awoken early that day. It seems like it finally has happened. The world is officially at war, our leader has declared a break-away from the ISAF. Now we, the 4th Tactical Fighter Wing, are a member of the IFOM, the Independent Federation of Mattock. The ISAF had declared war as soon as we rebelled, and my squad and our sister one are being called on to fight in the first battle.

"Falcon and Pitch squadrons, takeoff when ready."

I climbed into my F-16S, the newest model, straight from Osea. It was a highly maneuverable aircraft, since it has a thrust vectoring nozzle on it. Leave it to the Oseans to add such a strange thing, I guess. I taxied out to the runway and requested takeoff clearance. "Falcon 4, you are cleared for takeoff."

"Roger tower," I responded. I am Lt. Brian Marshall, a pilot in the Falcon TFS, one of two squads in the 4th Fighter Wing. Each squad, Falcon and Pitch, is made up of ten aircraft. And so, twenty aircraft, all F-16S's, lifted off and headed for their target.

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"Okay, listen up! The entire middle of the Usean continent has quite literally rebelled against us ISAF. The enemy is being led by a previous ISAF military official named Mattock. Unsurprisingly, they are calling themselves the 'Independent Federation of Mattock.' Many other units of the ISAF military have joined them, and they have succeeded in capturing several weapon supply dumps, as well as having supplies delivered from Osea and Yuktobania. You guys are to split up and achieve air superiority in several areas to allow for our close-air support to have a chance. Don't let us down. The Seraph will assist here; (He pointed to a circle on the map) the Angels, here; (He pointed again) and the Devils, here. (He pointed one last time) Are there any questions?"

The pilots stared dumbstruck. They haven't even graduated! Then, Ericks spoke up. "Uh, sir, why aren't…well, ISAF planes helping? We're part of the FEAF, aren't we?" "A good question, uh, Ericks," he replied, remembering the pilot's name after a few seconds, "Erusea is still technically part of the ISAF, and as such we will be aiding them in this battle. So, launch!"

"Man, I can't believe this!" We were walking to our jets, and already Ericks was complaining. "We're just allies! Aren't there any ISAF fighters that can launch instead of us?" Seraph 1 came up. "Are you afraid to kill anyone or something, Ericks? Did you think we'd be training in mock dogfights forever?" "No, SIR. It's just a stupid cause, I THINK." "That's your problem Ericks, good soldiers and pilots like us aren't supposed to think," Jones said as he walked on. Aaron spoke next. "Look, James, the enemy is so close to our border, Erusea has to react. Didn't you pay any attention during the briefing!" "Hey man, just cause you got shot down by the Angels doesn't mean you have to take it out on me." Aaron ignored him and walked on to where his Su-47 was parked. "Well, real missiles, that's different," he thought, "Whether or not we like it, we're being used…" Half an hour later, the Seraph were on their way to the target area.

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"Pickle, pickle!" Falcon 4 dropped his last bomb on a cluster of ISAF tanks. The already small force the ISAF had near Erusea's borders was shrinking steadily under the air support of the Falcon and Pitch squads. "This is nothing," Falcon 4 thought, "The ISAF doesn't even have any airborne fighters, attackers, anything. I'll be going back to base with a full load of missiles for tomorrow." He sighed, and radioed in to his AWACS. "Hawkeye, this is Falcon 4. I'm out of bombs, requesting orders." "Roger 4, just hold over the area and provide top cover, over." "Joy. Just tell me to do nothing next time," he muttered to himself.

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"All Seraph planes, this is AWACS 'Harp,' you are nearing the target area. Cleared to engage any and all enemy bandits, weapons hot." "Harp? These names just get weirder and weirder man." "Maintain radio silence, Lt. Ericks." "Roogeeer, Harp." Aaron surpressed a laugh. "Here we go, this is the real thing," he told himself. "I'll prove to anyone that I can defend my wingmen, especially that idiot adjutant."

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"Attention Falcon and Pitch flights," warned Hawkeye, "Fifteen bogeys inbound, no IFF response. Falcon 4 and Pitch 7, close and identify." "Roger Hawkeye. Yo, 7, let's go!" Four called to his best friend. "I'm coming, just hold on." Falcon 4 and Pitch 7 had met during training and quickly became friends, due to their sharing of a dream, becoming the 'Ace of Aces.' They closed in on the targets, the Seraph.

"Uh, attention, unidentified aircraft. If you do not leave the area immediately, you will be fired upon," 7 called. "All Seraph, we have our orders, disperse and engage at will." "Hey, wait, what?" Falcon 4's question was met with several missile warning tones. "Aaghh!" He broke left, three bandits on his tail. "Hawkeye, we've been engaged! Warn the others! Whoa!" He pulled back on the stick into a loop, evading more missiles. "This isn't looking good! Pitch 7, where are ya? Help me out!"

Seraph 8 got behind a bandit, an F-16, as he noticed. The tiny plane couldn't outmaneuver his powerful Sukhoi, and he downed the pilot with guns. "Seraph 8 here, splash one! Yeah!" "Kill confirmed, good job eight. Nineteen aircraft remaining."

There were so many F-16s, it was practically target practice for the Seraph. Five was diving at a hostile in Seraph 14's blind spot. He blasted the plane with cannon fire, shearing off its left wing. He zoomed right past the plane as it began to spin out. He pulled up to watch the pilot punch out. "Nice kill! There are ten aircraft remaining," came Harp's congratulations.

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Falcon 4 inverted and dived, a Split-S. He lost the Berkut trailing him, only to run into another. "They're everywhere! Where is everyone!" "This is Hawkeye, there are only nine allied aircraft remaining, including you, 4." "How many enemy planes are left!" "No bandits have been confirmed shot down yet." "WHAT! Hey, whaugh!" An Su-47 shot past, guns ablaze. Several bullets tore into 4's wing. "Agh, dammit, I'm hit Hawkeye! Losing fuel, going down!" He struggled with the aircraft. "How in Razgriz's name could just a few bullets cripple a jet!" he furiously wondered. "These pilots are too good!" He had no other choice. Turning the jet as well as he could and aiming for allied territory, he pulled the ejection handle and rocketed out of the cockpit.

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Seraph 8 watched as Seraph 4 splashed the last bandit. "All bandits confirmed destroyed, not bad Seraph, not bad at all. You are to linger just a bit and provide cover for the attack aircraft, that is all." Aaron breathed a sigh of relief. They had done it, outnumbered twenty to fifteen, and hadn't taken a single hit. But just a 'Not bad?' They had done better than that… "Hey, 8, how many did ya get!" Aaron smiled and said, "Three. You, Ericks?" "What! Three! Damn, I only got one." The rest of the squad laughed, and the mission went on smoothly, no aircraft even attempted to close in on the ISAF ground forces. Aaron watched as some Erusian Su-25s rolled in on the scrambling IFOM tanks so far below him. Missiles and bombs flew off their wings, imbedding themselves in the enemy. He watched as several men ran from a tank as a Frogfoot fired its last air to ground missile at it. He saw them all go down, hit by shrapnel from the explosion. His cold expression unchanged, Aaron simply rolled the aircraft over and went on with his mission.

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Brian Marshall, Falcon 4, looked up at the fifteen aircraft circling above his parachute. "Seraph," he said aloud. "There's no way I'll forget that name."


	5. Chapter 5: At a Loss

"Alright people, listen up, this is it."

We were sitting in the briefing room, the whole Falcon and Pitch squadrons. Our forces were being pushed back by the ISAF, and our major defense line was in jeopardy.

"Our allies are taking heavy damage from the onslaught at Los Canas. You are to provide close air support and then top cover, returning only when you are out of fuel or weapons. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir." The pilots were all exhausted, we'd been flying practically non-stop, and it was always so repetitive, CAS, SEAD, CAP, repeat.

"Okay, the enemy has begun a major offensive here…"

The rest all became a blurry mess to me. I should have paid attention, but it just wouldn't work. After the briefing finished, Pitch 7 woke me up, thankfully, and not one of the officers conducting the briefing. I shuffled out to the flight line, every inch of my body telling me to give up and collapse on the spot. But they needed me up there. I was one of only three aces in the squads. So many, battles, yet so few kills. At least we were all still alive.

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Devil 1 yawned, taking his hands off the controls to stretch. It had been a long flight, and the Red Devils were nearing their target zone. Each pilot had four precision guided bombs on external pylons and the normal load of AA missiles. They were to shoot down any bandits, strike the enemy tanks when possible, and so forth. "I know what to do," he said to no one in particular, having thought the task over. "We've been doing this forever it seems." The squad, accompanied by their AWACS, rolled into the battle zone.

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"Falcon flight, another group of aircraft inbound, fifteen bandits."

When he heard this, Falcon 4 immediately switched to his Sidewinders. "There are fifteen of them. It's the Seraph again, I know it," he thought.

"All aircraft stay heads up, they're F-22s."

"Huh? Raptors? The Seraph flew-" He was cut off by a missile alert from one of the Devils. "Augh! BVR missiles! Evading!" He rolled into a dive and narrowly avoided a direct hit. "Whew! Alright, whoever these guys are, they're asking for it," he exclaimed, "Falcon 4 engage!"

Directly ahead of Pitch 7 was a bandit, coming in fast, over the speed of sound. He let him zoom past, then turned and gave chase. The F-22 dived, apparently trying to kill himself! But he pulled up at the last moment and was now flying just inches above the treetops. "I'm not so sure I want to follow that…" Pitch 7 muttered into his facemask. Instead, he descended to only about fifty feet and held high on the pilot's tail. The Raptor itself was holding Mach 1 with its supercruise ability, and Pitch 7 knew that he had to end this before he ran himself out of fuel. He switched into afterburners and accelerated towards the F-22, warming up his gun. He had just one chance to fire, no time to check six. "Well I sure hope there isn't anyone back there," he told himself, "Just a few more seconds… Almost there… just a few more!"

"Guns, guns, guns!" he shouted, and the bullets all struck the plane, ripping into the fuselage and vertical fins. The pilot got out immediately, and the plane dropped, smashing through the tree level, snapping great red wood and oak trees in half, finally coming to a rest in a massive inferno on the earth.

"Devil 14, break left…now!"

Falcon 4 was on the tail of an F-22, apparently called Devil 14, and four wasn't going anywhere. "This is fourteen, someone help me! I can't shake him!" Finally, an opportunity, the pilot swerved in the wrong direction, directly into his sights.

"Fox 3! Fox 3!"

The missile homed in his exhaust, and plowed right into his number two engine. The Raptor imploded and went down. Brian looked back to see the pilot bail out. "Uh, Hawkeye, this is Falcon 4, bagged one."

"Not bad four, but Pitch 7 is doing better, he's gotten two."

"Gee, thanks for the encouragement Hawkeye." He switched back to Sidewinders and went in for another bandit. They were winning, it was eighteen against ten, and all the downed Falcon and Pitch pilots had ejected. They couldn't possibly be more ecstatic then right now. But…

"This is Pitch 3, Falcon 9 is going down! I don't see a chute anywhere!"

"This is Falcon 1, repeat, Pitch 3… I said repeat, do you see a chute?" There was a long pause interrupted only by several "Fox 2!'s" and "I'm evading!'s." Finally, Pitch 3 reported after what seemed like an eternity. "F-F-Falcon Leader, th-this is P-Pitch 3, I have made s-s-s-several…" He was stuttering, obviously driving back tears. Falcon 9 was Pitch 3's brother. "…passes over… over the…crash s-site, and I…" He trailed off into sobs.

Falcon 4 leveled out of his climb. He had just been chasing another Devil up into the sky and had succeeded in scoring a hit. The pilot punched out before the Raptor exploded, sending shrapnel everywhere, which fell back towards the earth. He watched the pilot's chute deploy, loathing that it did, and that Falcon 9's had not.

The Red Devils had then lost six aircraft. Not liking the two-to-one odds, they disengaged and egressed. "We did it. We threw 'em back," Falcon 4 thought, "But…nine…" The Falcon squad had lost its first member. The 4th TFW now only had nineteen pilots.

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The nine surviving Devil aircraft touched down at Spire AB. Their spirits and egos had been shattered with just one battle, the only battle they had lost so far. They trudged slowly to the debriefing, morose feelings all around. Every one of their downed wingmen had ejected, but no one knew if they had been captured by the enemy. It was a feeling that not only the Red Devils, but the Blue Angels as well, would have to get used to.

"Congratulations people. Real damn good job you did out there. Not only did you lose six, SIX of your planes, you failed to destroy one goddamned IFOM tank. Devils 4, 6, 9, 10, 14, and 15 were shot down." He paused and took a good look around at the sullen faces. "Well, be glad that they were picked up by allied tanks that were retreating, all of them, and will return shortly." Every Devil had been holding their breath, but now let it out. Their comrades were safe. "Our forces have been pushed back, too far back. In a few days time, the ISAF president will be calling for a surrender. If we don't push the IFOM hard enough, they'll get right up and push back. We can't have that, and can't allow another failure. We have identified the pilots responsible for most of your losses. Their callsigns are Falcon 4 and Pitch 7. Every fighter pilot in the ISAAF is on alert, ready to kill these pilots on first notice. If you run across them again, you are ordered to terminate them with extreme prejudice. Do NOT let them bail out, they are too dangerous a threat to our objectives." He took a quick glance around the room, and sighed. "That is all, dismissed."

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The Falcon and Pitch pilots were silent, circling their airfield as they took turns to land. Pitch 3, no longer was able to restrain himself, was now crying full force. Eventually, all seventeen of the remaining F-16S Hunter Falcons were enclosed in their hangars for the night once again.


	6. Chapter 6: Stonehenge's Replacement

Two officials walked into a dimly lit room a room reigned by darkness, dust, and silence. One of the men was carrying a briefcase, and set it on a table, resulting in a flurry of sift and a shattered tranquility. They sat in silence again for several minutes on two of only three chairs in the room, until much brighter lights suddenly flooded the room, from previously unseen fixtures far above their heads. Another man, flanked by two armed guards, entered and took the third seat. He spoke first, breaking the deafening lull that had tried to reclaim its hold on the room. "Alright. What have you got for me today?"

The man without the case replied, "Prime Minister sir. We have news on the 'Experimental Attack Mega – 001,' sir."

"Good, good, the… 'Sphynx,' right?"

"Yes sir. Our team is currently drawing up the blueprints. We just need a site for it sir, somewhere where we can get supplies to it from anywhere on the continent." The man with the briefcase stood up and opened it. He withdrew a folded paper, unfolded it, and spread it out on the table. It was a physical map of the Usean continent that designated what parts the ISAF currently controlled, and what parts the IFOM currently held. There were several red dots scattered around, some in Erusea, some on North Point, and one which was labeled 'STN.' The official pointed to that particular, mysteriously named spot.

"This is the destroyed Stonehenge complex's location sir. We control most parts surrounding and including it. The best proposed construction site is a hundred or so miles north of Stonehenge. We could draw power lines from around the continent to this one spot easily."

"North of Stonehenge, eh? That is terribly close to the front lines," the Prime Minister said, "What's the status of Stonehenge itself?"

"The turrets are heavily damaged and currently inoperable, but not beyond repair. EMPT could have them up and running quickly, sir."

"Alright, that's a good back-up plan if you ask me. But I warn you right now: the ISAF may be in our pockets, but that won't help if we go building a super weapon in the wrong place. You are confined to building the 'Sphynx' inland, not in Erusea, nor in North Point. We don't want any civilians suspecting anything in North Point, and it's a very bad idea to build such a thing in our own backyard. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir, we will start on the site selection, with your restrictions, immediately. Thank you for your time Prime Minister."

The two men stood as the Minister left with his guards in tow. The lights dimmed again, and the men gathered their things. They left without another word. Silence and dust took over where it had left off, and it soon seemed as if no one had ever been there.


	7. Chapter 7: Aquila and Allies

"Yo, barkeep, toss another one my way!"

Business was booming at the Sky Kid café. The IFOM forces had been pushed out of San Salvacion, and ISAF occupation forces again took up residence there. The barkeep, his wife, and their employees were working like mad, trying to keep a crowded bar happy.

"Hey, Miss, over here!"

The barkeep hustled behind the bar, filling mugs, passing out drinks, re-filling them… He stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. The calendar read 'January 3, 2025.' The war so far had become a dead standstill. Now the men and women in the bar were watching as the ISAF president was making a speech, demanding surrender from the IFOM. The barkeep watched too for a little while (once he had gotten everyone their drinks), then noticed that there were in fact no ISAF enlistees in the bar. They were all Erusian, wearing that proud, orange decagon patch that was the country's insignia. He paused, then looked around again, double-checking.

"That's the strangest thing I've ever seen," he told his wife, "Why are there so many Erusians?"

"You know, now that you mention it, I haven't seen hide or tail of the arrowhead anywhere. I don't think there's a single ISAF soldier in this city," she replied quietly, "Something's up, most definitely."

The barkeep wondered if that meant the occupying air force was mostly Erusian too. He told his wife to take care of the bar and left.

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When he arrived at the nearest air base (it had taken awhile, since he had no gas to drive a car; it was being rationed to civilians again), he saw several jets on the tarmac. They were Su-37s, he recognized them immediately. He couldn't, he wouldn't ever forget the shape and looks of that plane.

And, of course, the planes themselves helped him remember, since they were all painted in Yellow Squadron colors.

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A man was inspecting his aircraft. He didn't notice the strange civilian outside the fence sneaking looks at his squad's Su-37s. He was making sure the aircraft was still undamaged, having just arrived from an Erusian Pilot Industries factory, painted in Yellow Squadron livery. His particular aircraft sported a large '006' under the cockpit. He didn't trust the pilot who had delivered it, and so checked it himself. Everything checked out A-OK, so the man traveled inside the nearby building, looking for his wingmen.

He walked into the flight crew quarters, where he found most of them. "Hey, six!" His pal called him over.

"What's up four?"

"We've got a new assignment, straight from Farbanti, no bullshit, nothing. We're going to engage in a series of, well…" he lowered his voice so that only six could hear, "…somewhat, controversial attacks. No one will know about us doing it, and the military will deny that they were involved in the events. Hell, they're gonna deny our entire existence! Total impunity man, this is great."

"Sounds like we'll be having quite a bit of fun then. I must say though, why are we still flying such shit planes like the Su-37? Can't we sneak some Su-51s from EASA testing?" six pleaded offhandedly.

"Yo, man! Shut it! There are ISAF personnel around you in this base. No one is supposed to know about that, remember? The Su-51 Night Raven is coming out into production soon. We'll have ours by May or so of next year."

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The mood at the "Orange City" was hectic. This was the major city of the IFOM that housed Commander Mattock himself, and was called this due to the official IFOM color being orange. This of course, was the opposite color of blue, the ISAF's color. Sober, Mattock was a much different man. No matter how many battles he lost, how much work he had to do, Mattock maintained his composure. But today was very different. Today, the IFOM leader had received a surrender request from the ISAF president. He had turned it down flatly, saying that surrendering to pigs is something he didn't want on his résumé. In truth, he was delaying, waiting for word from Osea and Yuktobania. He had requested their aid in the war months ago, and so prospects looked bleak. But this was a special day.

The first stroke of luck occurred at the air base north of "Orange City." A small civilian jet touched down on the runway there, flanked by two F-25A Syphons, prides of the Osean Air Defense Force. On board the airliner was the Osean president himself, bringing news of Osea's agreed entry into the war. In addition, the IFOM Air Force would be receiving the new F-25s.

The second was another jet's arrival. This was carefully guarded by several desert camo Su-27 Flankers. This time, the Yuktobanian Prime Minister stepped out, and greeted the Osean and IFOM officials who had been waiting for them. During their discussion, the Yuke Minister made an agreement to give the IFOM full fledged support from his own country. This included troops, aircraft, vehicles, weapons, ammo, the whole package.

As it turned out, the officials of both countries had been watching the ISAF actions carefully. They declared war upon the ISAF in the IFOM's favor, due to their belief that the ISAF had indeed been involved in the corrupt dealings the IFOM accused it of in the first place.

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"Sir. I... bring some bad news."

The Erusian Prime Minister looked up at his intelligence officer. "Yes?"

"Sir, Osea and the Union of Yuktobanian Republics have declared war on the ISAF, and are in the IFOM's favor."

"Oh, really now? Hmm… I guess it all gets more interesting now. I think…yes, it is time. Let them know just whom they are actually dealing with. Send word to the Belkans. It's time for the fall of both ISAF and IFOM."

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The reporters in the room were all chatting excitedly. The ISAF president was to give another speech, this time dealing with IFOM's denial of surrender and the declarations of war from both Osea and Yuktobania. They looked up at the podium where a man had appeared. It wasn't the president. Assuming he was just setting up the microphone, they continued to talk. The man, however, began a speech.

"Can I have your attention please? Excuse me? HEY!"

The reporters all went silent. Several dozen camera lenses shined with dull light reflecting off them as they swung to watch this man. He continued, "Right. I am very sorry to say that the president of the ISAF could not be here today. That is because he is currently detained in a prison camp in Erusea." There was a collective gasp from the otherwise still room. The man went on. "I am an official of the ISAF government, or, I was. In truth, most of the people you, the public, voted into office, were Erusians! And so it has come to be that the ISAF military has fallen under our power, as well as most of the continent."

The reporters could not believe their ears. How? Why? This shouldn't, couldn't, isn't possible! This sudden revelation shocked the world as it watched with now bated breath.

"As of right now, Erusea stands outnumbered in this war, but not overpowered. We call upon our ally now to reveal itself, to let the world know who has been assisting the Erusian military in its endeavors on the Usean continent."

At these words, another official walked up to the podium, from where he had been standing just off-stage. The Erusian man backed away and let this new officer speak. He had a heavy accent, and spoke rather bad English.

"Hello, to the vorld. I am Peter Zimmermann, representative of the government of the Principality of Belka. My country has been supplying Erusea, our great ally, vith everything it needs to vin this var. And now, it seems, it is not enough. As such, the countries of Osea and Yuktobania have declared var on our ally. So, the Belkan government has reached a decision. Vee too, declare var. Vee declare it on Osea, on Yuktobania, on the IFOM, on every pitiful bastard that dares to attack our ally. Right now, our troops gather on the border of South and North Belka! Invasion of the southern lands, once again!"

He burst out with maniacal laughter. The Erusian official stood by him with an equally evil grin. "Take these people away!" he called to his guards. They dragged the reporters out of the building.

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The barkeep sat watching this at home in his bar. It made sense to him now. The Erusian soldiers. No ISAF anywhere. Hell, the Yellow Squadron being reformed! The bar still had a number of soldiers in it, and all, of course, were Erusian. While watching the speech, they cheered and laughed right with the officials. When the Belkan man had finished, they turned to one of their own and told him, "Yo, Holger! Take off that Erusian patch and put on the one from your motherland, it won't matter now!" At this, the man withdrew a small, yellow, white, and black triangular patch from his chest pocket. He positioned it over the FEAF symbol and asked for some glue. His companions laughed and just told him to come on. Some of them left the bar, apparently to requisition a sewing kit.

As he watched the last man go, the barkeep wondered what it all meant. Wondered what might happen next. Wondered if the ISAF would return, as they did so long ago.


	8. Chapter 8: The Aces' Rendezvous

Brian Marshall looked at the clock. Five in the morning. It was August 2025, and the war had been going badly again for the IFOM. When Belka had declared war and attacked Osean territory simultaneously, the Oseans began to withdraw out of Usea to fight them in their homeland. Now only IFOM and Yuke forces were left in the defense.

He got up and put his flight suit on. It was stupid not to, he knew they'd be going up in a sudden, unexpected sortie any time now. It was always this way when war bogged down. Brian shuffled to the mess hall to eat, and wasn't surprised to see the other seventeen pilots already there. In fact, the only ones who used to rise later than him were dead, Falcon 9 and Pitch 5. The Pitch pilot had taken a SAM to the side of his plane, there was no way he could have ejected. Falcon 4 remembered watching the whole event, and it played out in his mind. The SAM being launched, screeching through the sky towards five. He watched as five broke left, but the missile was too far away then, and it turned towards the middle of the plane to score a direct hit. He recalled the stream of red fire that went streaking into the fuselage of five's plane, saw the horrible sight of-

"Hey, Marshall! You gonna stand around all say? Get somethin' to eat, we launch in an hour."

Brian sat down by Pitch 7 and his flight lead. They were going up on a sortie later to assist their ground forces. Again. "I half expected that the enemy would have launched a sneak attack before our offensive. Is that a bad sign?" Marshall jokingly asked. Seven laughed, "So you got up wearing your flight suit too, huh? Glad I'm not the only one." Everyone chuckled, but most were afraid to laugh out loud. The enemy would be sending in their best squadron, one the pilots had never faced before, they knew they would. Falcon 4 was disappointed; they had not run into the Seraph since the first battle when his whole squad was shot down. "Oh well," he thought. "Maybe it's fate that we'll meet again sometime…"

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Alright, flaps, rudders, ailerons, nozzles, all check."

Yellow 6 was performing his pre-flight checks on his Su-37. His plane was loaded with a payload of only air to air missiles, some Su-25 Frogfoots would provide close air support. HQ was also deploying KA-50 helicopters, and it was the Yellows' job to provide top cover. That meant they would be dealing with IFOM's top scoring aces, Falcon 4 and Pitch 7. "We'll do it. We'll do what not even the Devils or the Angels could. What not even the Seraph could do right," he reminded himself.

"Yellow 6, cleared for takeoff."

"Roger." He increased the power to afterburner, and rocketed down the runway. He pulled back lightly on the stick, then harder, pulling straight up. He leveled out and joined up with the five other Yellow aircraft already airborne.

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"Falcon Flight, engage." "Pitch Flight, engage!"

The two nine aircraft formations rolled in on their targets, a defensive position chock full of bunkers on their allies' flank. This mission was a decisive one; breaking through this emplacement meant throwing the Erusians back miles! Falcon 4 selected a cluster of pillboxes for his first strike.

"Bombs away!" The whole thing went up in a deafening explosion. "Target destroyed, flowing to next," Marshall told his AWACS. Everything was going smoothly, their troops were moving forward, snaking between empty bunkers and decimated boxes with little resistance. The whole wing was waiting with bated breath however. The enemy squadron was nowhere in sight, nowhere on radar. It was unsettling, like waiting for a coming storm. Then, Hawkeye radioed in to the pilots.

"Good work men. The forces below us have pushed through the position thanks to your air support. However, a massive enemy force is advancing, containing fighters, helicopters, and AAA artillery. Stay alert and get ready."

"All aircraft, this is Falcon 1, let's have the Pitch squad fly SEAD and take out the helis. Falcon squad, follow me high to intercept the bandits." "Roger Falcon 1, this is Pitch flight, breaking off." Marshall watched as Pitch 7 dispersed with the other Pitch pilots, and felt a sudden uneasiness, an insecurity. He followed his squad leader up to ten angels and flew out to meet the hostiles.

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Yellow 6 watched on radar as nine aircraft climbed to match his squad's altitude. He gave the order to disperse and engage at will to his other four wingmen. The fifteen aircraft in Yellow Squadron were flying in three groups of five. The other two formations eventually split too. They flew forward until visual contact was established.

"This is Yellow 6, tally ho, nine F-16s to our 12, continue on and splash them."

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"Okay guys, here they come. We're outnumbered fifteen to nine, so stay close and defend each other."

Falcon 4 broke left to trail a Yellow. Without even knowing it, he stuck to the Yellow's tail and followed him away from the battle at ten thousand feet. At around six thousand, the Yellow went into a Hook and escaped his view. Turning around, he found himself surrounded by four Yellows.

"OH HELL!"

He jerked the Falcon to the right again and dodged two missiles coming in from his 11 o'clock. It was hectic, he only knew that no matter where he turned, another bandit was waiting for him. He felt his aircraft give a shudder, felt it run down his spine to his legs. He looked behind him and saw a Yellow pumping bullets into his jet. "Aww, you son of a-" He began barrel rolling to avoid taking more hits, but already his aircraft was trailing smoke. He knew he'd be easily spotted and targeted by the enemy no matter where he went. He had no choice but to fight it out to the end…

"Attention all Aquila Squadron aircraft, RTB immediately, your presence is no longer required."

"What? Who is this? Speak dammit!" demanded Yellow 6, hot on Falcon 4's trail.

"This is Seraph 1, Sgt. Jones, your presence is not required Yellow. I repeat, disengage and RTB. These are direct orders from Farbanti, disengage. The Seraph will take your place in the battle."

Six was furious. Instead, he turned back to the smoking jet in front of him. Or, at least, that's where it had been. Now he was behind six, and the other Yellows had already broke off the attack. "Oh, you bastards!" he shouted after his squad. His next reproach wasn't heard, as he was busy evading the missile now homing in on his aircraft's exhaust.

"Damn!" He couldn't get out of the way in time, and the missile imploded just a bit astray of its target, shrapnelling and critically damaging his plane. Falcon 4 moved in for the finish. "C'mon…just a bit closer…" he thought. Then, time for him seemed to slow down, he looked behind him instinctively and had seen a gray plane come shooting down from above. A missile alert alarm filled his ears with a loud obnoxious buzz, and he swerved left. The Yellow escaped and disengaged in the confusion, cursing himself.

Now it was clear to Falcon 4 what was happening. It was them, the gray planes, the Seraph. Without a second thought about his damaged jet he turned after the bandit to his 9 o'clock. "Pitch 7!" he called. "It's them! Help me out!"

By the time seven got there, four was already turning and burning with the Seraph pilot, despite being in a crippled plane. At the moment, the Seraph had the advantage and got behind the Falcon. The smoke pouring out of the plane had increased, and the Seraph was almost flying blind. Nevertheless, he followed the Falcon, who, strangely enough, had started flying straight and was even throttling up. He followed suit, not wanting this ace to get away. This Seraph was none other than eight, and he was in gun range. His finger was on the trigger, but…

"Now!" The Falcon pilot broke right, and now Seraph 8 was facing another ace head on, Pitch 7. The F-16's gun lit up, shooting round after round at the Seraph. Only a few found their target, as the Berkut started into evasive maneuvers and then went after the wounded bird. He found the craft again, but soon realized that the other was on his tail now. "I can't get one without being attacked by the other," Aaron thought. "These guys must be the aces, they're flying so perfectly together." Instead, eight pitched up and soon lost the Falcon and Pitch pilots behind him. He ascended to twenty angels, and rested a bit.

He took a look at his radar. The two aces were far below him, and had no idea where he had gone. His wingmen were all attacking the remaining four aircraft of the nine plane formation that had intercepted the Yellows. Another eight planes were destroying the helicopters and attackers sent in to support the reinforcement troops.

"Crap, Harp, this is Seraph 8, please redirect the Seraph to attack the planes annihilating our back-up air support."

"Roger Seraph, I'll have a few deal with the enemy Falcon squad remnants and the rest will attack the Pitch. What are you going to do?"

"What do ya mean? I'm gonna deal with those two aces."

At this, he rolled his aircraft and dove through the clouds. The two were circling below him, one on the other's wing. The smoking aircraft was jerking about, and could not keep a steady course. It seemed that the plane had at last given out. He dropped down behind the two without them ever noticing. Switching off guns and back to missiles, he let them know where he was with a lock-on warning. Neither budged, but he knew they were aware that anywhere they went, one would go down. Seraph 8 called over an open radio channel. "Attention aces of the IFOM air force, stand down. You, in the damaged plane, egress at once. I will deal with your friend and spare you today." Harp's angry voice came over the radio waves. "Lt. Thatcher! What do you think you are doing! Attack, don't let them get-" Aaron turned off the radio and sat on the fighters' tail.

After what seemed like an eternity, the wounded ace turned and headed for base. The other climbed and disappeared, leaving Seraph 8 behind. "Heh heh, alright, that's more like it," he said to himself, before breaking and beginning a search for the other ace.

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Yellow 6 touched down at his base, and proceeded to jump out of his aircraft the moment it was parked. He rushed into the debriefing room and shouted at anyone in earshot. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE THINKING! DO YOU NOT THINK THAT WE COULD HANDLE A FEW STUPID ACE PILOTS!" The base commander stood up slowly and walked over. "Six, calm down. It wasn't our decision. The Prime Minister himself requested you to return. Said he had another assignment for you. You and your wingmen are to fly to the capital immediately, no questions asked."

"Assignment my-" Six cut his sentence short at the commander's look, and turned around. As he walked back to his plane, he ran into Yellow 10, who asked him what was next. Six yelled back, "You know what! We're going to Farbanti, get back in your damn plane!"

"Whoa, six, chill out."

"Chill out? CHILL OUT! We, no, _I_ could have had him! That stupid ace! But noooo, along comes the almighty goddamned Seraph to take over! And you know what really makes my day! The bastard who took over fighting that ace let him get away! So as you can tell, I am not in a good mood, so stay away from me or else I might start seeing things, like, say, an Su-37, that seems to look like an F-16… You know what I mean!"

Ten, nearly shaking with fear, nodded and then ran off. Six continued his wrathful journey to his jet.

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Pitch 7 was in trouble. Even despite being in an unharmed F-16, he could not take the Seraph ace on alone. Eight was on his tail, and clinging tight to a lock-on. Aaron knew it was over, and was a bit saddened by this pilot's skills, which seemed to be lesser than his and the other ace's. Regretfully, he called, "Fox 2." The plane erupted in a fireball, and dropped down, out of view. He looked back to see that the pilot had punched out, and his orders suddenly came to mind. _Do not allow them to eject, kill them, don't let them escape_… But he already let one away, and something stopped him from turning around pumping the pilot full of lead from his gun. He knew he'd probably be court-martialed for this. He laughed it off however, not caring any more, and went after the other planes.

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The debriefing for most of the Seraph came as a shock. They had thought they had done what they were supposed to, shoot down all enemy aircraft. And they had…just not fast enough, resulting in the annihilation of the close-air support. Their ground reinforcements were destroyed because they had no help from the air.

"Well, well, well…" began the commander. "A few of you have a bit of explaining to do. Like you Jones; why did you not redirect aircraft to attack the second enemy formation earlier? And you Ericks…strafed one of your own tanks!"

"I thought it was one of theirs…" Ericks replied sheepishly.

The commander had one more point to make. "And you, Thatcher…why, _WHY_ did you let a _CRIPPLED_ enemy _ACE_ escape to _SAFETY_! That man and his wingman are the reason we are being pushed back! And the second one! You let him eject! What on _EARTH_ was going through your mind!"

"Sir, it didn't seem right to attack a mangled plane at that point, and I was unable to maneuver into position to strafe the pilot known as Pitch 7 before he got to the ground."

"It didn't seem _right_? This is war, Thatcher! Having morals will get you killed!" the commander screamed at Aaron. He put on a rather mocking tone and continued, "And you were 'unable to maneuver into position to attack that ace.' The hell you were. Why didn't you attack when you had the opportunity then?"

"I…" Aaron's voice trailed off and soon died all together. What could he say? Nothing came to him. He bowed his head in both defeat and disgrace.

"So. So, the great Seraph, the best pilots in the FEAF," the commander mocked, "Couldn't bring themselves to kill just two people for the sake of so many more of their own brothers! You people make me sick, get outta my sight… GO!"

The Seraph dejectedly walked to their dorms, unsure what this turn of events meant for them.

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Hmm, sorry for Yellow 6's bad-mouthing. Please review the story so far!


	9. Chapter 9: The Lion's Roar

It was complete. In the desert, far north of the destroyed STN complex, stood a massive structure, pointing to the sky, finally completed. It was larger than even a Stonehenge turret, and far more precise and deadly. This…was the 'Sphynx.'

The date was September 2, 2025, and the XAM-001 had just been completed. This huge turret of steel was a powerful laser system, fueled by hundreds of electrical and chemical supply lines that snaked across the ground for thousands of miles. The men who had planned its construction now watched as it began its test firings. At their side was the Erusian Prime Minister, eager to see his new toy in action.

"Countdown to firing, target, 50 foot bulls-eye, five, four, three, two…"

The Sphynx's 'jaws opened, and a mass energy transfer to them began.

"…one…"

At zero the beak of this monstrosity clamped closed, and a beam of pure energy shot out of the end. It streaked towards the target, trained in on it for a second, then promptly combusted it. The laser also ceased. "Impressive! Most impressive," were the words of awe from the Minister's mouth. The engineer selected the next target. "Aiming, 25 foot target, countdown…" It all happened again, the Sphynx opened and closed its mouth; the laser shot out; but this time, it missed completely.

"What happened? You didn't even graze the target," criticized the Minister, "Fire again, but do it right this time."

"Roger, sir." He turned to his microphone, "Adjust turret, bearing 2-5-0, prepare for next firing." The turret slowly sprang to life, turning, ever so slowly and minutely, aiming carefully. "Countdown to firing…" Again, the laser arced out and missed.

"What was that!" the Erusian Minister exclaimed, "The laser changed its course! It _wanted_ to miss that target!"

"I'm sorry sir, I… this wasn't happening yesterday. Try again guys, bearing 2-4-5."

The tests continued in this way. As the Prime Minister became more and more agitated, the engineers were learning more and more about the problem. The radar controlling target selection and aiming was being offset by the firing of the turret and the electrical lines below the surface. This caused a false reading on the radar screen, causing the Sphynx, in turn, to miss. From the first trial on, it couldn't hit a single mark.

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The Seraph pilots were sitting alone in the crew quarters. The Red Devils and Blue Angels were away on sorties, but this squad had been grounded temporarily, ever since that disastrous hop when the enemy aces had been allowed to escape. The pilots were all scattered about the room, no one was speaking to each other. They had been this way for a week.

Ericks looked at Aaron, then at Jones, and even Richardson. He wasn't one to stay silent forever, and soon proposed they go to a bar. No one answered. "C'mon, what's the matter with you guys?" Aaron soon grew sick of this complacency as well, and started up a conversation about the war with Ericks.

"What do you really think we're in this war for, James?" he asked. Ericks answer was not immediate, but rather, slow; he had taken his time to think about it, something he rarely did. "We're being used. They said it already man, it's just Erusea's plan to take over the continent, seeing as how they failed in their last attempt." Aaron thought about Ericks's response, "True, back then the ISAF had the ribbon, and he helped push the Erusians back. But now, there is no ISAF, no ribbon, only the IFOM. Can those two aces really push us back? It doesn't seem possible, with their skills falling short of my own." Aaron asked his next question, "Do you ever think…we're on the wrong side?"

This time there was an instant response, "No. It's our homeland. But yes, we are being real ass holes, aren't we?" Thatcher smirked, bowing his head so none of the other pilots could see. Ericks then asked, "How about you? What do you think?" Aaron had hoped he wouldn't ask. "I…I don't think we should be fighting this war. Nor do I think that I am on the right side, whichever that may be." He said these words hesitantly, aware that Jones was now watching and listening to him on the other side of the room.

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"This is AWACS Silver Lining, come in Angel 1."

"Angel 1 here, reporting."

"Good, we can hear you just fine. Your target is on the nose, be advised, the Falcon and Pitch aces are here as well."

"Roger that, there will be no problems, Lining."

The Blue Angels had just refueled after completing their close-air support mission elsewhere. Now they were to assist the Red Devils in a massive furball over an enemy air base. As they rolled in, it became apparent that not all of the bandits were of the Falcon and Pitch squads; there were F-15S/MTDs of the Omega and Rapier squads as well, and, surprisingly, some Osean F-25s in IFOM colors. The Angels merged with the hostiles and dispersed.

Angel 4 jumped on the tail of one of the Syphons that had a Devil in his sights. He opened up with Vulcan fire, but the IFOM pilot simply began barrel rolling, avoiding most of the Angel's shots. The F-25 then fired its own cannon, with expertly placed shots, bringing the Devil's plane to a smoking wreck, all while maintaining a perfect roll to avoid four's rounds. Angel 4 witnessed the whole thing, but could not believe it. By taking his eye off the IFOM ace to see if the Devil had ejected, he lost him, only to have the ace appear again behind him.

"Oh, hell!" Four swerved to lose the ace, but the F-25 was a much better aircraft than his F-18S. He resorted to pulling into a Cobra, which finally succeeded in making the enemy ace overshoot. As the F-25 flew past Four, he caught a glimpse of the insignia on the left vertical stabilizer. It was a blue ribbon.

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"This is Sky Eye, splash one! Good job Mobius 3. Omega flight, shift over to vector 1-4-0, we have more bogeys rolling in. Heads up, they're X-02s."

"This is Omega 9, roger Sky Eye, wilco." Omega 9 rolled left and headed for the Wyverns. The old ISAF squads, including Mobius, Omega, Rapier, Vapor, and Viper had all defected to the IFOM when the Erusian Prime Minister had revealed the truth behind the war. Now they were the driving force behind all of IFOM's attacks.

"Okay, tally ho, Omega 9 engage, looks like it's the Wyvern squad."

"Yep, I'm seeing some green trim! Let's go boys!"

The two squads of ten aircraft each merged and began swapping missiles. "Omega 9, fox 2!" The missile tracked and careened towards its target, but the Wyvern managed to just slip away.

"Missed."

The other Omega pilots were performing excellently, nearly flawlessly, the Wyverns hadn't scored a hit yet. Omega 9 again had the edge over one of the X-02s. He jinked left and right, getting into firing position. The enemy pilot was howling over the radio for help, but none would come. "Let's try again, eh? Omega 9, fox 2!" The missile leapt screaming from its stationary place on the pylon, and chased the X-02 down. The bandit's jet erupted into bright flames and fell out of the sky. "Sky Eye, splash one bandit!"

"Yahoo! Nice, nine! That's ten bandits now! You're outscoring some of the Mobius pilots," came Sky Eye's praise.

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Angel 7 and 4 were swerving all over the sky, trying to evade the Mobius pilots on their tail. So far, the mission had been a failure, the FEAF aircraft were dropping like flies. But then came a stroke of luck for the pursued Angels; whether it was good or bad remained to be seen. The Mobius F-25s broke off the hunt, and two F-16S's took their place. The Angels knew at once who they were, Falcon 4 and Pitch 7.

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"Are you kidding me man! Full house again!"

The rest of the Seraph burst out laughing, Ericks had just lost another game of poker to Jones. Too bad he didn't realize Dan, Seraph 12, was helping his lead cheat. The mood in the crew room had lightened up since more and more of the pilots had joined in on Ericks and Aaron's conversation. Every one of the pilots, Jones included, had admitted to believing in that they were on the wrong side. Eventually, talk turned back to the war, as someone had wondered aloud how the Devils were faring in their battle. Jones had remarked about the war dragging on forever, that Erusea couldn't possibly overcome IFOM's suppliers and supplies, and IFOM couldn't overcome most of Erusea's technology. But Richardson disagreed, and said that the war would soon be over in Erusea's favor.

"And how did you come to that conclusion, Lt. Rich?"

"Well sir, I'll explain. I have contacts in higher and lower places, to let you know. Brothers, friends, brother's friends, you get the point. Anyway, recently I heard about this secret project Erusea has undertaken in the desert north of Stonehenge. All I know about it is it's called the 'Sphynx' unofficially, Experimental Attack Mega-001 officially, and that it's a laser, quite literally. Rumors have been circulating that the thing's been missing most of its practice targets during tests. The engineers who built it probably are working on fixing that problem right now. The way this thing's supposed to work, we could possibly overthrow the world with it. It just needs more power to reach greater distances. I bet that in time it could reach anywhere in the world."

The awkward silence returned. Ericks spoke slowly, "Such a terrible weapon could do a lot of collateral damage… How precise is it?"

"If the bug in the programming or whatever is repaired, then… well, I'll be straight forward. It could hit a jet fighter at whatever speeds, bringing it down in an instant, no chance for the pilot to survive."

Aaron felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, he doubled over and fell into a seat. "That was indeed a terrible weapon," he thought, "A lot of people will be killed by it, I know. I would hate to be on the receiving end of such hateful power…"

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"Fox 2!"

Brian Marshall and Jordan Nelson were hunting Dalton Rhodes and Leanne Bridger down. That is, Falcon 4 and Pitch 7 were engaging Angels 4 and 7.

"Break left four!" Angel 7 cried out, in terror at the idea of facing these aces alone.

"Seven, break off and let one follow you, that's all we can do right now." Seven banked up right. "Pitch 7 here, I'm gonna go take her out, will you be all right four?"

Two answers were given: Falcon 4, "Roger that, you just remember to buy her dinner alright?" and Angel 4, "Shut up you bastards!" Pitch 7 laughed, reminded his wingman that he didn't mean that kind of 'take out,' and changed bearings to reengage the Angel.

Falcon 4 returned to the enemy in front of him, who was accelerating away. "Whoa! Wait up there buddy," he joked, hitting the afterburners to catch up.

"Hah, you are an idiot, just like that Seraph," Angel 4 scoffed over the radio. He pulled his aircraft up into a Cobra, and accelerated straight up, the 'Cobra Strike.' Falcon 4 was startled by the Angel's sudden disappearance, and so instinctively rolled and dived underneath and away from the Angel. Both of them leveled out to not find the other at their 12 o'clock. Neither pilot could figure out where the other had went, and so flew straight and level for a few seconds, searching for his opponent. Sky Eye and Silver Lining, who had observed all this, warned their ally that the other plane lay at six. Some of the people aboard Sky Eye took awhile to stop laughing about the affair and settle down. The two aces, embarrassed by their obvious stupidity, turned to face one another, once again.

Meanwhile, Pitch 7 and Angel 7 were having a high speed, low altitude battle, an area where Pitch pilots were known to not excel in. Jordan locked on, and fired a Sidewinder the Angel's way. She reacted at the last moment by barrel rolling and deploying flares. The missile dived after a decoy and impacted on the ground within a millisecond, sending debris flying Pitch 7's way. He rolled over it, still on Bridger's tail. She went into a defensive barrel roll again, and Pitch 7 almost overshot into her jet.

"You crazy bitch! You're gonna kill yourself and me by doing that so low to the deck!"

"Craziness is just one of my assets, my dear little boy…" she teased him, knowing full well he couldn't land a missile _and_ couldn't close to gun range. Their speed was nearing Mach 2. Pitch 7 checked his fuel gauge, and saw that it was surprisingly low, only a minute more of this and he'd be at bingo fuel! He looked back up and started to consider whether or not to disengage, letting the Angel win today, like another 'Angel' had done for his wingman in the last battle.

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"Falcon 4, incoming missile, break!"

"Whoa, augh!" Brian was now the prey as the Angel had miraculously gotten on his tail. He remembered for a split second how the ace did it, and wondered if it was really possible that he had. He was closing in on the Angel for guns, when the Angel's plane had pitched up, and flipped over Brian's aircraft. A kulbit, right over his plane, and the Angel was on his tail. The missile caught up with Falcon 4's jet, and shrapnel from its implosion damaged his vertical fin, he lost his yaw ability. "I'm hit, wounded bird!" Brian called out to Sky Eye, hoping someone might come and get this guy off his six.

Blue Angel 4 smirked behind his oxygen mask. "A nice easy finish, right here, right now," he told himself confidently. He saw that the F-16 was turning to evade him and he dove into a low speed yo-yo. Popping back up, the Falcon was in range of the Angel's guns. "Time to live up to your name, Killer Hornet," Rhodes said to his aircraft.

Falcon 4's mind was racing. He knew he was only seconds away from his own demise, and had to do something. He heard the shriek of bullets flying past and into his plane, and decided he had no other choice. Relying on the plane's thrust vectoring, he dropped the aircraft's nose as quickly as he could, and fishtailed until he was facing the Angel head-on.

"Fox 2!"

The missile sprang from its rail and smashed directly into the Angel's air intake. The projectile did not detonate, as it had no time to arm itself, but the damage was done. The Angel cursed and screamed he'd have his revenge, then burst out of the cockpit and disappeared into the sky, as the F/A-18 ripped itself apart, falling to earth.

"Falcon 4 here… (His breathing heavy, his body exhausted) Splash…one."

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After the remaining bandits were shot down, Falcon 4 rejoined Pitch 7 at the tanker sent in by Sky Eye. "Sorry four, I had to let the other Angel get away, she ran me right out of fuel." Falcon 4 nodded, saying non-verbally that it was all right, too tired to care that seven couldn't see him. On the way back to base, four and seven were joined by several other IFOM aces, including Omega 9, Mobius 3, and Mobius 11, in formation. They traded scores and in the end it was Mobius 3 with ten, then Falcon 4 with eight, then Omega 9 with seven, Pitch 7 next with five, and Mobius 11 with only four. "I guess that means eleven'll be buying tonight guys!" Omega 9 called out in triumph. "Aw, man…" The pilots turned for home, towards a celebration waiting for them at base.


	10. Chapter 10: Stars and Ribbons

* * *

"The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were cast upon the earth…" – Revelation, Ch. 8: 7

* * *

Aaron woke to the sound of a bluebird chirping outside his window. He looked at the petit creature, simply amazed at its rather loud voice. "You'd better get outta here, before Mr. Demon of Razgriz here gets you," Aaron warned the bird, nodding to the bunk above his. Seraph 9 wasn't a morning person.

He looked over to the calendar on the wall, the first thing he always did when he woke up nowadays. It was March 9, 2026, a lot of time had passed. The Seraph were again flying sorties; they had tested their mettle against the Omega Squad, faced off against the Rapier Squad, annihilated the Vapor Squad, and crushed the Halo Squad. But there was no sign of Falcon 4 or Pitch 7, or anyone else from their squadrons. It seemed that high command was still making sure that the Seraph were never given a chance to allow the hated enemy to live again.

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The shrill alarm went up throughout the headquarters. An air raid, somewhere far off to the east. This alarm never sounded for an attack here, the enemy would never reach Farbanti. A bomber flight was en route to a critical factory, escorted by Mobius Squadron aircraft. The officials scrambled to decide what to do.

"The nearest squad is the Red Squad, send them up to delay them." "Are you kidding! Those are ribbons, the Reds would get eaten alive up there!" "Where's the Yellow Squad?" "Off the coast of Anea!" "What the hell are they doing there!" The chaotic mood did little to slow the advancing bombers. They were just miles from their target, just minutes from pulverizing it. "God, this is getting nowhere! What about the Red Devils?" "Negative, they're grounded up north for maintenance." "Dammit! How about the Blue Angels!" "Too far, they'll never make it in time." The only sane person in the room at the time was an officer who had seen the Seraph in action, as well as the Mobius pilots. He knew that the Seraph were closest, and were the only squad available that could handle these aces. He also perceived that their name would never surface in this conversation, it was too risky to task the Seraph with killing the ribbons. Yet, the officer saw it as the only choice.

"The Seraph, send them up. They're closest, they're the best we've got, they're ready. We have no time, this is final. The Seraph must do this." The vehement uproar that followed was indiscernible to the officer, who was not dissuaded. "Look at the other options. We either send for the Reds and have them all go down with the factory, or we send for the Angels, and have them arrive too late. Oh, how about the Yellows? They'll get here in time…for the next raid. You have no choice. If you value that plant so much, then send up the Seraph, if only to slow them down until the Angels can arrive."

The furor died down, each man returning to his senses. The general in charge flopped down into his chair, a blank expression on his face. One of his aids asked for the permission to scramble the Seraph. "Sir?"

He paused, but got no response.

"Sir? What…what will you have us do? We can't waste time sir."

The general continued his stare, and only moved after a very tense minute. He waved his hand at the aid, defeated. The Seraph would go up.

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"Attention Mobius and Hammer pilots, this is Sky Eye, target is on the nose. Make every bomb count, and be quick, there are reinforcements coming from vector 2-2-5."

Mobius 3 responded, "Roger, we'll wait for them to get closer before we try to engage or intercept them." He listened to the strained silence from the bomber flight, and hastily added, "Er, not to make you Hammers nervous or anything." The Mobius pilots separated from the bombers and wondered what planes were coming after them.

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"Seraph 1 here, we've got them on radar now, Harp. Fifteen bombers, one for each of us, and a dozen escorts, all presumably Mobius aircraft. Will engage on sight."

Aaron sighed. No Falcon 4. No Pitch 7. The higher-ups truly did not trust them, he was sure, from how long it took them to have him and his wingmen launched. They were worried that they'd let more enemy aces away. The Seraph Squad's days in the spotlight had ended, and they were quickly losing favor with the officials. But this, this was a chance to save some face. Aaron knew that another squad, possibly the Angels, was being scrambled to follow after them, and that his flight was only to stall the bombers. This was now their only slight opportunity to prove their worth, to kill the enemy before the others could arrive. It was a most grim idea to Thatcher.

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Forgotten. No one cares, no one but us. The thoughts of an Osean soldier in Belka. The war in Usea had shunted the bloody conflict in Osea and Belka to the side. While the world watched the Erusians battle the IFOM and Yukes, thousands of soldiers, both Osean and Belkan, died in the fiercest fighting of the war.

The Belkans, renowned for their defenses, had resorted to trench warfare. There were no great charges, no victories, no gain, nothing but shattered glory, death, and loss. Both sides' casualties were mounting, more and more mothers and fathers were crying, the white snow in Belka had become drenched, dyed black, with the blood, guts, fears, and dreams of Osean boys and girls. And all of it was filtered into the homes; through television, radio, through any source, the misery spread like a horrible disease that many had been infected by and couldn't be quarantined. The media broadcast images of torsos missing legs; hands on the ground with no arms nor bodies; panning shots of the no-man zone between trenches, where so many dead laid in grotesque deformations, with no one to give them a proper burial. After all, these boys and girls were forgotten, forgotten by all except the other boys and girls in Osea and Belka, the only ones who cared.

At just such a home of some boys and girls, there lived a man and a woman, two who knew more about wars than those surrounding them, more than what was shone by the media. The man was watching, observing, the men in Osea were pulling back, as were the Belkans. There was going to be a lull in the death, a time to mourn and lay away the deceased at last. The man's eyes flickered back and forth, looking through his own eyes into those of the boys and girls on the screen. They were weary, scarred, hurt, dead themselves. While still physically alive, none on those battlefields could be alive inside.

The report changed to the anchorman. They switched to a party at the HQ on the frontlines, a frolicking, happy place to be. It was pure paradoxical to the man, that those boys and girls could be shown as such, and then it was off to this great carousal. They seemed to be celebrating the temporary cease-fire, a time to get drunk and waste away. The reports swapped from battlefield to frolic, from frolic to battlefield. The man stood, and called his wife to watch with him, "Hey, Nagase. Come take a look at this."

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"Continue on vector 1-3-5, Seraph flight, weapons hot. Engage any hostile bandits and protect the factory. That is all for now."

Aaron pulled on his oxygen mask. The bombers and F-25s were dead ahead, and they were closing fast. This was no time for hesitation, yet Aaron couldn't help but wonder why this assembly plant was so important. It looked like just another aircraft manufacturing firm from five thousand feet up. In fact, that was all it was supposed to be, a plant controlled by 'Erusian Pilot Industries,' or EPI, a competitor to EASA. EPI was the company that had made the plane he was flying now.

"Seraph 1, engage." "Seraph 2 engage!" "Seraph 3, engaging!"

Aaron gave quite a start. He hadn't realized they were this close to the enemy flight. "Seraph 8, engage!"

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The Erusian officials watched as the two flights of fifteen aircraft each merged. No one was speaking, everyone was praying. There were just a few minutes left, the Seraph had to do this, the Angels _were_ too far away…

This particular factory held several prototype fighters designed by EPI. They were designed to be faster than an SR-71, hold more weapons than an X-02, and outmaneuver an F-25B. The loss of these aircraft would be unacceptable by high command.

Thus, everyone was praying.

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"Mobius 7, fox 3!"

Aaron watched as the missile impacted on Seraph 3's wing, shearing it on completely. The plane plummeted down, crashing into a hangar far below. Seraph 3 himself had luckily gotten out at the last minute, but probably hit the ground hard. Thatcher returned his attention to the bandits, who had them outnumbered. The Mobius pilots were good, they had to be, to keep their name. One appeared on Aaron's tail.

"Oh crap! Hey, Ericks, how 'bout some help!"

Aaron's call went unanswered; Ericks had already been shot down. He had taken two bandits down with him, but it still wasn't enough. There were nine Seraph pitted against thirteen ribbons. And the bombers were rolling in on the factory, only being pestered by a few AA guns on the ground. Time for the plant and the Seraph reputation was wearing thin.

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Mobius 3 clung to the tail of one of the Berkuts. The enemy pilot was good, but not enough to make up for the Syphoner's clear advantages. "I'll end this now for your sake," Mobius 3 muttered, "Fox 2!"

The Seraph dived towards the factory, as did the missile. He swerved around a water tank just in time, and the missile impacted on it instead of his plane. "Damn, that was actually pretty cool looking!" Mobius 3 laughed as he took off after the enemy ace.

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"Pretty cool looking huh?" Aaron thought, having overheard the bandit behind him (and having ignored Harp's angry shouts), "Just wait for this."

The Syphoner was sitting directly behind him, closing fast for guns. Aaron didn't think twice. Throwing the craft's nose up and over, he went into a kulbit, all while spraying bullets at his opponent. The ribbon, unlucky enough to be hit, dodged to the right.

After leveling out, Aaron yawed and locked on. "Fox 2!"

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The general watched on the screen of his computer simulation as another one of the enemy bandits was splashed, this time by a little Berkut symbol marked '8.' The odds were evening out, but there were still fourteen bombers; one had been shot down by AAA. The rest were literally only a minute away from the factory.

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Checking his radar, Seraph 1 realized that there was now the same number of bandits as there were allied aircraft. "No, wait," he thought, "Eight's not engaging the fighters and hasn't been shot down yet, where is he?"

The answer came through in Harp's next transmission. "Nicely done Thatcher! Only twelve bombers remaining, get them all!"

Aaron turned to the six of another B-52. There were only a few of these, the rest were Tu-95s, easy kills. "Seraph 8, fox 2!" The missile slammed into its target, critically damaging the Stratofortress. It began to slowly dip in attitude, then it fell faster and faster towards the ground.

"Alright, next!" Aaron closed in on a Bear, rolling to avoid the tail gunner. He flew up to its wing and opened up with his gun. The engines took a few dozen rounds and sputtered smoke, then died completely. The bomber began a fiery roll down to the ground.

"Just ten more, c'mon," Aaron egged himself on. He fired a shot at the nearest Tu-95, and hit the bomb bay. The bombs inside started going off, and the whole airframe was torn asunder by the explosions. There were only nine bombers now, yet they were over the facility. Aaron realized that he was too late; the messages that came from the bombers themselves confirmed this.

"Over target, dropping, dropping!" "Bombs away!" "Hit the runway too!"

Aaron eyes wandered from the destruction below him to the runway that they had spoken about. He saw a strange aircraft streak down it, engines ablaze in afterburner. He peered at its fuselage. It…it seemed to have four wings…

"Thatcher! What are you doing!"

His captain's shout brought Aaron back to his senses. His aircraft had nearly drifted into a bomber's tail fin.

"Whoa!" He brought his plane up to eight angels and looked towards the runway. The plane was gone, nowhere in sight. All that was there now were the exploding bombs.

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The mission had been a disaster even before it started, yet Aaron and the other Seraph were getting full blame. After the bombers had destroyed the factory, the surviving ribbons had egressed. The bombers themselves were mostly picked off after by some Blue Angels who wanted revenge, having arrived too late after all. To make matters worse, there had been a special IFOM marine unit on the ground the whole time, directing the flight of bombers. They picked up most of the downed ribbons and returned to allied territory. Only one Mobius pilot had been killed. It seemed that that was the only good thing, as HQ was not exactly thrilled to hear they'd still have all of the Seraph to deal with, or about the number of (rather expensive) aircraft they'd have to replace.

"I swear man, they wouldn't have rescued us if we were in enemy territory. They were seriously hoping some of us would die so we'd be out of their hair, weren't they man?"

Ericks, along with every other Seraph, had safely returned (except for Seraph 3, who broke a leg hitting the ground after ejecting). Aaron was quiet and depressed however, he was tired of being berated by Jones and the idiots at HQ. Most of all, however, he was wondering about the jet that had escaped. Nothing was said of it in the briefing, no landing for it was ever recorded anywhere, and none of the others saw it.

The only one Aaron could ask about it was Richardson.

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It was the room again, the one ruled by silence and dust, the kings of age and decay. This time, a man had been sitting in it alone, with only the dimmest lights on. This man was the general, the one who had ordered the Seraph to be launched without assistance. Another man entered, dirt and silt kicking up around his feet. This time, no extra lights came on, no guards protected him, this man was not the Prime Minister. He spoke to the general, his voice full of contempt.

"You ordered them up, without aid. And we paid for it. The factory was completely destroyed. Do you realize what that means? You could have launched the Red Squadron to attack the bombers while the Seraph held off the Mobius pilots, but…no, you took the risk, and lost. All but one of the prototypes of the 'Lone Star Project' were destroyed, completely, just like the factory. Only one managed to escape the annihilation, and it is currently being sheltered at a secret EPI test facility in the mountains north of Whiskey Corridor. Your reputation, your successes, everything has just been erased by this incident, and we at high command don't particularly appreciate failures, even little ones that stain an otherwise spotless record. You are just as much a flop as the Seraph Squadron itself now. As such, I have been appointed to be your successor here, and you…well, let's just say I hope you never meet those poor factory workers yourself, where you're going."

The man pulled a small handgun from his pocket, pointed it at the general's head, and pulled the trigger three times.

"Call us heartless, call us evil, call us what you will, and we will still be Erusians, still be as human as you," he said coldly to the cadaver lying before him. It was not long before the new general had left, and the dust had come to settle on the corpse, masking it, making it indistinguishable from the floor.


	11. Chapter 11: Tracking Aces

* * *

"…the…heads were like the heads of lions, and out of their mouths came fire, smoke, and sulfur…" – Revelation, Ch. 8: 7

* * *

"Sir, the report you requested." 

The Erusian Prime Minister looked up from his work at the lieutenant holding a folder above him. He took it from the man, who saluted and left. The cover of the report read, "Security Clearance Level Red: Top Secret." Inside, a title page with the words "Sonnatrac Alert and Search System" greeted his eyes. This was about the 'Sphynx,' and its new radar, which was now apparently finished.

The account detailed the last test firing, in which the 'Sphynx' was calculated to miss only 2 of the time, an astounding success. The Minister cheered and shouted as loud as he could when he read about this, and that the 'Sphynx' was now ready for military usage(giving his secretary quite the scare). He picked up the phone and dialed the number for the XAM-001 compound.

"Prime Minister sir."

"Hello, Tyler. Please put this on speaker phone for the rest of the engineers and workers." The line was silent for a few seconds as Tyler switched the Minister to a speaker phone line. "All ready, sir."

"Your attention, gentlemen. I have just concluded reading your report on your progress with the XAM-001 and… SASS. I must say, the success of this project is amazing, congratulations."

The engineers who had been listening nervously now grinned and shook hands among themselves. The Minister recalled everyone's focus.

"Now however, marks the beginning of the true trials and tribulations. Your orders are clear, you are to begin attacks on IFOM and Yuke forces at once. An appeal for aid has recently come from Rigley Air Force base; it is under attack from IFOM aces, most importantly Falcon 4 and Pitch 7, infamous for their skills. You are to kill all the pilots in the air above that base, our pilots will have received a warning before your attacks, and they will descend to below one thousand feet, avoiding the Sonnatrac Radar and minimizing chances of friendly fire. That is all for now, good luck. Now get to work gentlemen!"

The line went dead as the Minister hung up; immediately a scramble of engineers, operators, and electricians began, a general chaos in the 'Sphynx' facility, as everyone rushed to do their jobs.

* * *

"This is Hawkeye, watch your shots Falcon 4! Don't hit the runway!" 

Marshall sighed, it wasn't easy to miss Rigley's runway while chasing a Blue Squadron pilot. Other than some collateral, the battle was going well. The Blue Squad had scrambled from Rigley to intercept the Falcon, Pitch, and Kvant (A Yuke squad was accompanying the regular IFOM pilots to help decrease casualties) Squads, who were tasked with destroying key components to the base for when the ground forces would attempt to take it. These enemy pilots were fairly inexperienced, as they weren't on the front lines. They were all flying F-16S Hunter Falcons as well, making them easy prey for the IFOM aces.

"Yeah, splash one!"

"Good kill seven!" Marshall shouted over the radio to his Pitch friend, "Just a few more left, do you think I'll end up with more kills than you today?"

"Eh, I'd say it's more likely that Razgriz will rise from the South Sea," Nelson joked in return. Marshall laughed, and turned after one of the enemy bandits that had just whizzed by him.

"I've got him now, just wait seven…" The bandit swerved and jinked all over, and the tone wouldn't get a clear lock-on. "Dammit, stay still you idiot," Four cursed. The little diamond on his HUD danced around the enemy plane as it tried to establish a lock. Finally, it jumped onto the target.

"All right! Fox-"

Marshall's sentence was cut off as the bandit performed a miraculous roll and dived, straight for the deck. "Holy crap, that guy's pretty fast," Marshall said, stunned. Even _he_ couldn't roll that fast. "Must of had a pretty good reason to get away so fast."

Four checked his radar, then looked in front of him, bewildered. The enemy bandits, all of them, had dived below a thousand feet, and were now swarming over one spot, away from Rigley. None of the Falcon, the Pitch, or the Kvant pilots could understand it.

"What are they doing? Disengaging and reforming?" "Can't be, they're staying separate and going pretty fast." "Well you got me! What should we do?" The confusion was turned to fear by Hawkeye's transmission.

"Attention all aircraft! We have an incoming on radar, we have no idea what it is! Brace for impact, ETA ten seconds!"

The pilots each counted down mentally, waiting…

"Five…four…three…two…one…"

The sky turned to fire, the sun was shadowed by a bright beam of light that shot over the horizon and collided with one of the Kvant planes. The laser was trained on the jet for just seconds, but it exploded and disintegrated, taking the pilot with it. Small bits of metal fluttered down to the earth.

"Holy hell! What was that!" Marshall was appalled, he had no idea what had just happened, except that one of his allies lost his life. The other pilots were cussing and yelling, screaming at Hawkeye for instructions, at Kvant 6 to respond, at the enemy…

"Hawkeye here, another round coming, ETA fifteen seconds, I suggest you men get a move on!"

"What do we do! Fly underground so they can't see us!"

A stroke of genius hit Marshall. "Of course," he thought, "The enemy, they all dived below a thousand feet, this…this must be why!"

"Five, four, three, two…"

"EVERYBODY DIVE! GET BELOW ONE ANGEL!" Marshall bellowed at his wingmen, who were shocked out of their daze by four's message. They reacted slowly, and so another aircraft, this time Falcon 14, was hit, and also killed. Four swore, and looked at the smoke and metal shimmering where his jet had been just milliseconds before. He didn't listen to Hawkeye's third warning.

The heavens lit up again, and Marshall saw that his plane seemed to be engulfed in a soft pink glow. He was diving, fast, gaining speed, and was closing in fast on the ground. He didn't care, he knew it was over anyway. He pulled back on the stick and leveled out, all while closing his eyes. His plane began shaking violently, as if it were ripping itself apart, rivet by rivet, composite by composite.

And then it stopped.

* * *

The men working the Sonnatrac Radar System watched as all of their targets above Rigley disappeared. They apparently had learned of their trick, and descended to a safe altitude below the radar's tracking range. They wondered if any of the three aircraft they thought confirmed destroyed had been one of the aces.

* * *

Brian Marshall opened his eyes. He was not dead. His plane was still flying. He was mystified, and scanned his surroundings, wondering how it was that he had survived. At last, his eyes fell upon the altimeter, which read 932 feet. Apparently, his dive caused him to drop below the thousand mark just in time, and the pitching up motion caused the laser to lose track. It was a miracle, and he knew it. 

The 'Sphynx' stopped firing at the battle, the operators were ordered to attack a new target, the 'Orange City.'

* * *

"Commander sir, we need to evacuate immediately, there's no time to lose!" 

Mattock ignored the man, and continued staring out his office window. The 'Sphynx' they had disregarded for so long was now obliterating his city, building by building. A skyscraper close to his command center exploded and collapsed, hit briefly by the carving sickle of annihilation that the Erusians had swung. Thousands of civilians were dying, he knew it, and the Erusians probably knew it too. They were firing blind, Mattock understood (courtesy several spies) that the 'Sphynx' couldn't track targets under a thousand feet. They were just shooting at the city, regardless of whatever the laser hit.

"Sir! They'll be hitting us next! Let's move!"

Mattock allowed himself to be dragged from the building. He watched through tired eyes as officers, generals, lieutenants, the whole crew, clambered over each other, gathering important documents and other things. He was hurried into a motorcade and escorted away, to a secret and hopefully safe bunker. Looking back at the building, he observed its and several other surrounding structures' violent destruction by the laser.

Mattock turned back around, to face his General of the Air Force. "Where are they now?" he asked, referring to a flight of Vapor aircraft sent to attack the 'Sphynx.'

"Sir, well…The Vapor flight…has been effectively vaporized."

Mattock's head sank to his knees. There had been twenty-four aircraft in that formation, and none of them got through, none would be coming home. He sighed deeply, perceiving only one clear way to destroy the 'Sphynx:' a nuclear strike. Air raids could never get close enough due to the double radar defense grid around the 'Sphynx.' Ground forces would most likely be exterminated by the Erusian forces in the area. There was no other option.

* * *

"We've got the XAM-001 at sight, target coordinates locked, ready for firing, need authorization." 

Mattock stood by as several engineers activated a launch sequence for an ICBM. This time, however, the strike range would be short.

"Okay sir, we need your key over there."

Mattock fitted his key into a small keyhole on the control panel. He turned it, and a red button, covered by a locked slate of bulletproof glass, lit up. One of the generals produced a key from his pocket, and opened the glass.

"Sir. On your orders."

Mattock looked at the button, then at the men sitting nearby, staring at him, waiting.

"Fire, nuke the bastards."

"Okay, we have a confirmed launch activation, all systems go, she's off…"

The missile rose from its tube in the earth and blasted off, rising steadily out of sight. "Alright Commander, if you look at this screen…" An operator switched on a display, and brought up a patch to live footage of the 'Sphynx' compound. The turret was angled up, pointing at the sky, an eerie sight. All else was still, they hadn't detected the missile. The men in the room were relieved, perhaps this would work.

No. It would work.

* * *

Falcon 4 touched down at a nearby friendly air base. His wingmen had dealt with the enemy bandits and Rigley, all while at low altitude; he had egressed, his plane was going haywire. The ground and flight crews greeted him with shocked and bewildered faces. 

"What? What's the matter?" Marshall asked. A man just pointed to his plane, his mouth hanging open. The F-16S had been stripped bare; its paint was mostly evaporated; some composites were ripped off entirely, leaving delicate electronics showing; a great part of the tail fins and nozzle had been destroyed as well. Everyone, Brian Marshall too, was surprised that he made it this far in this plane.

Another man came running up to the crowd of awed mechanics. He pushed through the throng towards Marshall.

"Hey! Pilot! Follow me, I'll be taking you to your temporary quarters and…"

Marshall did not hear what the man said next in the furor of disbelief surrounding him, but followed after the official anyway, shoving through the drove as well.

* * *

A piercing alarm rose at the 'Sphynx' compound. Mattock and the others stared in horror and incredulity as the turret, control room, and radar sites lowered into the ground, disappearing beneath a massive steel plate, that slid shut over top of the structures. 

A streak of orange dashed through the sky, the ICBM. Directly after, the nuke detonated, sending shock waves out the disabled the camera. The transmission lost, the officials had no notion if the strike had succeeded in knocking out the facility.

Within minutes, an SI-96 Sierra, the newest reconnaissance plane out of Osea, capable of Mach 6, was on its way to the target area. These planes had been flying non-stop over Usea, Osea, and Belka, observing Erusian and Belkan movements. These recon jets first discovered the 'Sphynx.'

Now they showed that the turret and all its facilities remained undamaged, secure under the unscarredsteel plate. The evidence was undeniable: there really was no known, no conceivable way, to destroy the 'Sphynx.'

Everyone in the command room of the bunker was silent, devastated by the photographs and scans the SI-96 had taken. They waited, holding their breath, for the final hammer blow to fall, Mattock's decision.

He too was quiet for some time. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled and quavered, as if unsteady and crushed by this turn of events. "We…we can't stay any longer… If innocent people will just keep getting killed, then we shouldn't draw such ruin towards them. We…will withdraw to Osea and Yuktobania for now, all…all of us, our men, our machines… until we can make a… plan. We should…be safe there, out of range of…_it_," he forced the last word out before going silent again.


	12. Chapter 12: The Withdraw

* * *

"They… worshipped the beast and said, 'Who can compare with the beast or who can fight against it?" – Revelation, Ch. 13: 4-5

* * *

"Mr. President, sir. News from Usea, Commander Mattock sends his regards and… requests aid for an operation."

The Osean President leaned over his desk and, without looking at the messenger, responded, "Continue, I'm listening."

"Well, this one's a crazy one, he's thinking of withdrawing from the Usean continent _entirely_. The XAM-001, Erusea's superweapon, has dealt great damage to his forces and to civilians, and he wishes to be out of its range and to avoid any more collateral. As such, he requests that your sir send aid in the form of additional troops to assist in the evacuation of the Usean continent, codenamed Operation Eden…"

"Wait, what happened? Surely nothing devastating enough could have occurred to force him to withdraw completely! Will he not stay until he is sure there is no other choice but to flee?"

"Sir, they have tried multiple times to assault and destroy the XAM-001, from air strikes to nuclear ones, all have failed. Meanwhile, their troops on the ground, in the air, and even off the coast at sea are being obliterated. They are helpless against this predator which hits fast and precisely, precise enough to strike a fighter jet. And so, since they are losing troops and machines quite quickly, they are requesting we provide additional support, sir."

The President sighed and turned his back to the man. "Why now?" he wondered, "We have our own problems to deal with. We just lost two hundred thousand boys and girls at Rotwald Pass in the Waldreich Mountains over the space of two months, and _they_ want backup."

"Sir, do you have… a return message or should I come back later?"

The President faced the man. The man's eyes were filled with naivete, he obviously had not realized the full scope of the situation. The President hadn't quite yet either, but it dawned upon him slowly. As such, the President took time to respond.

"Send word to Mattock. Tell him that he must mass his forces in the south, between the mountains of Los Canas and the desert where Stonehenge lies. We will prepare a massive convoy for his forces there, with help from the Yuktobanian Navy. This will take some time, let him know to be ready in at least a month."

* * *

Marshall followed the official to a room, probably a briefing room, it looked similar to the one at his regular air base. "Congratulations, Lt. Marshall, you are to be given a medal for your quick thinking."

"Huh?" Brian was puzzled. A medal? For what? He didn't care, he wanted to know more about the air battle he had missed out on.

"The Swift Wings Medal, awarded to a pilot who has used lightning-fast cunning to either outwit his enemy or save his allies. You saved a lot of men today."

Marshall avoided the man's praising gaze. He hadn't saved two others, and that's two too few in his eyes.

"As for the battle itself, your wingmen were able to gain advantage and shoot down the other enemy aircraft while at low altitude…"

Brian stopped paying attention. It didn't matter, just get him out of here. The whole base stank worse than Pitch 5's flight suit locker. Marshall felt light-headed.

"Of course, the ground forces were unable to advance for fear of annihilation by the XAM-001…"

"Who cares…just let me go already…" Brian thought, "And just call it the 'Sphynx' ya idiot brass…"

"…and so you are being redeployed to the south in the Gnome Ravine area…"

"Uh, what?" Brian asked, coming out of a daze. The man stared at him again.

"You and your squads are being redeployed to the Gnome Ravine area to provide cover for Operation Eden, when it begins. That is all, by now a flight should be ready to take you there…"

Now it was four's time to gawk at the official. Operation what? Provide support? Marshall would be forcing some answers out of some people later…

* * *

Mattock paced back and forth in the bunker. It was April 16, the Osean and Yuke fleets were sailing, and the entirety of the IFOM and Yuke forces in Usea were concentrated in the south. The withdrawal would begin in little over an hour, and would go on for days. Unfortunately, this was a field day for the Erusians, as they would be given a huge amount of targets to bomb with planes, missiles, and such, as well as fry with the 'Sphynx.' The bunker gave a shudder; something had collapsed overtop of it on the surface. Mattock knew that it was probably one of the buildings from the mostly evacuated city, as the 'Sphynx' was firing on his forces right now, and had been since they started moving.

Mattock decided to check everything one last time. He called in to all the major portions of troops readying. "Infantry leader, come in."

The general in command of preparing the army crackled in, obviously transmitting on a faulty (yet secure) channel, "Yes sir, Go ahead."

"How goes the priming?"

"Everything on schedule, men, women, tanks, trucks, we're all go."

Mattock, satisfied, switched to the next channel. "Air Force leader, report, how goes?"

"All in the green sir, our transports and helicopters are ready to be transported. Some squads are still stationed, prepared for an emergency scramble to defend the convoy, including Mobius, Falcon, Pitch, and several Yuke squads, sir."

"Good, that is all." Mattock continued to talk with each man in charge of each branch. Everyone was set, they each had a job to do. The Navy and the Marines had already departed for Yuktobania, carrying as many infantry and equipment as possible. The rest now depended on the convoy.

"Sir, the convoy has requested we start moving out now, they're just off the coast."

* * *

"Minister, they have begun to move out now. This is a perfect opportunity to finish them off now."

The Erusian Prime Minister listened to the general bringing this news, then said, "Launch the Grey Squad, let them use the… Vultures." He smiled maliciously while he spoke the last word. The 'Vultures' were a new bomber, the Tu-200, developed by the Erusian branch of the Tupelov design bureau. Faster than a Tu-160, able to carry more ammunition than a B-52, and having more defensive weapons than an old B-17, they were the ultimate choice for this attack.

"Cease fire with the 'Sphynx' for now. Let the bombers go in and get out first. Send up some squads as escort, we'll probably be dealing with IFOM's best."

"So the Blue Angels, Yellows, and the Seraph then?"

The Minister leapt out of his seat, a snarl on his face. "Do you intend to mock me and my air force by saying the Seraph are some of the best! Launching them is like launching an enemy squad for us, they'll both end up screwing us over. Let the Devils, Angels, and Yellows go, whoever, just not the Seraph."

"Sir. With all due respect, the some of the Seraph have shown better skill than even the Yellows. I do not mean disrespect, but why not use such a powerful force?"

The general expected to be put to death for this comment. Instead, the Minister calmly responded, "Because I might be tempted to use the 'Sphynx' while the Seraph are in the air, and the 'Sphynx' can't differentiate between friend and foe, if you get my point. That is all, go."

"Sir, with your will."

* * *

The alarm went up, the pilots scrambled, the planes took off.

"Sky Eye here, listen up Mobius, Falcon, Pitch, and Wisna aircraft. A large aerial force is inbound, several dozen bombers escorted by twenty-five fighters. Intercept and destroy them all, before they can drop any bombs on our retreating forces."

"Roger that Sky Eye, Mobius 3 to all Mobius aircraft, we'll go in low and attack from six, follow me."

"Alright, Falcons, Pitches, this is Falcon 1, we're going high towards those escorts."

"Wilco. Wisna five through seven, trail the Mobius at six o'clock high, angels four. The rest of us, straight ahead, angels seven."

Falcon 4 scanned ahead with his radar. The enemy squads were separating; one group of fifteen split into a group of six planes and three three-craft formations. The group of six came head on while the other three spread out over the sky, chasing the Mobius, Falcon, and Pitch Squads. The other ten aircraft broke into two five-plane formations, which flew to intercept the Wisna and Falcon and Pitch as well. Marshall recognized the tactics, they were dealing with the Yellows and Angels. The bombers, presumably Tu-160s, were branching off towards the city at a high speed.

"Falcon and Pitch flights engage! We got Yellows and Angels, stick together, and be ready, the rest of 'em won't stay down for long once they know Falcon 4 and Pitch 7 are up here."

Falcon 4 broke off from formation, and Pitch 7 trailed as he dived towards the bandits. He was glad he had a full load of AA missiles only, not a pound for air to ground. "Heh, looks like it's finally time to finish what we started, Yellows."

* * *

"Uh, let's see… sixes?"

"Nope, go fish."

"Are you kidding man!"

The Seraph and Devil pilots were lounging in the crew quarters, some were playing cards (Ericks included, still losing), others were chatting. Aaron and Richardson were sitting by themselves, talking about the recent turn of events.

"So, the Sonnatrac's been completed, the 'Sphynx' opened fire, and the IFOM is running away?"

"That's basically it, Thatcher. My intel guys are saying that even they had no idea it was coming. That laser must have really been abused, to make even Mattock run from it."

"They attacked the 'Orange City' too, right? Must of killed thousands of innocent people. What's wrong with this government!" Aaron remarked, "So Mattock's taking his forces outta here, outta range of the 'Sphynx?'"

"Yes. He is hoping that he will be safe on the other side of the ocean, safe enough to plan a counter-attack on the 'Sphynx.' It's to little avail though, or so I've heard from my people."

"Oh? What do they mean? Can the 'Sphynx' reach Yuktobania or something?"

"Not yet. Supposedly, the Erusians are beginning an operation to extend the power and range of the 'Sphynx.' If it's true, then they'll be able to shoot that thing anywhere in the world."

"You're joking. Seriously! Holy! It's…wow. If this thing…even Osea _and_ Yuktobania…"

"All of them would be wiped out. Erusea might be able to take control of the entire world with that weapon."

Aaron sat shocked. It couldn't be possible. Could it?

"Do you think they might try that next? After Usea? Seizing control of Yuktobania, declaring war on its neighbors, Belka takes Osea, attacks _its_ neighbors… They all fall, like dominoes."

"Not if Erusea loses the 'Sphynx.' Okay, the big question, do you think it's possible to destroy the 'Sphynx?'" Aaron asked Arthur.

"Yes. Not by just blindly attacking, but a plan, with coordination between people on the inside, then yes, it would be possible. Don't forget, without Sonnatrac, the 'Sphynx' is fairly useless."

Aaron turned his head and watched Ericks throw his cards down in frustration (to a tumultuous laugh from other players), then looked out one of the few windows in the room. His Berkut was parked on the flight line along with several others, shimmering in the bright afternoon sun. He wondered how well the Yellows and Angels were doing against whomever the IFOM sent up against them.

* * *

"Angel 4, fox 2! Damn!"

Falcon 4 was being pursued by Angel 4 and his wingman, seven. So far, the Angels had been unable to do more than just a few bullet holes worth of damage to Marshall's plane. He knew he couldn't keep it up forever though, especially against two of those aces. Pitch 7 was engaging Yellow 6, and was unable to give any help. No one could help Marshall, it was up to him alone.

"Alright you bastards, let's see you take this."

Brian slided the throttle forward, increasing thrust, but not to afterburner. He pulled into a series of scissoring and high-speed jinking maneuvers, and the two Angels followed easily, as his F-16's mobility began to stagger with the speed. Slowly, they started falling behind, but they revved up their engines as well, and kept pace with the F-16. Marshall knew they'd be firing their guns any moment, he was definitely not avoiding their sights. Sure enough, a burst from Angel 4's Vulcan shredded some of the metal and paint clean off Marshall's wing. He pulled back on the stick and waited, anticipating Angel 4's next round of cannon fire.

Predictably, the Angel opened up with some more rounds, and hit near the cockpit of Brian's Falcon. But this was what he had been expecting; Marshall jerked the throttle back and broke hard left. Angel 4 lost the F-16 entirely, and seven couldn't find him, temporarily blinded by her wingman's gun's muzzle flashes; she had been facing Angel 4's nose the entire time, it had been a perfectly executed plan by Falcon 4.

Now, Brian had been able to get behind the two, who broke formation to the left and right. Marshall followed Angel 7, and quickly found the other ace on his tail. The line of planes snaked through the skies, as did the tracers of the airplanes' guns. Falcon 4 was taking more and more well-placed hits from the Angel behind him, and was barely scratching the one at his twelve o'clock. He knew it would be over soon. If only seven would make a mistake…

Brian watched as the F-18 in front of him accelerated, then abruptly pitched up into a Cobra. Her mocking voice came in, "Sorry, but I'm tired of having you back there already." His missile tone wavered; he knew he wasn't locked on to the plane. With only seconds left to maneuver out of the way, he fired an unguided missile and barrel rolled over the Hornet.

"Angel 7! Move it, Cobra Strike now!"

Angel 4's warning came too late. Looking back, Brian saw seven's plane erupt in flames as the missile struck her tail. The end of the jet crumpled and rent itself from the fuselage, falling freely. The cockpit also fell, and Marshall couldn't tell if seven had ejected. He turned and watched the fragments smash into the earth, as did Angel 4. Marshall then realized that seven had been saying something, but it was abruptly cut off. Instead, Brian overheard something he never expected from an Angel, especially number four: crying.

"B-bridger! N-no! Bail out! Respond! L-leanne! Please…come in!"

Marshall looked somberly at the F-18 circling seven's crash site. He had just killed her, taken a life from this man. Brian knew he had done it before, but he had never felt like this, even though these two were his absolute enemy. Before Brian realized it, Angel 4's crying and lamenting had stopped; the Killer Hornet was now streaking towards his jet.

Blue Angel 4's expression was crazed; he didn't care if he died, he didn't care who won the war anymore, he didn't care about anything, except about one thing: shooting down, killing, annihilating the one responsible for the death of Leanne Bridger, Angel 7, his beloved wingman.

* * *

While Falcon 4 was dogfighting the Angels, Pitch 7 was dueling Yellow 6 one-on-one.

"Yellow 6, fox 3!"

"Agh, I'm in a brake turn!" Jordan's F-16 couldn't outmaneuver the agile Su-37, and, as a result, the Yellow had been on his tail for the entire dogfight. "Will someone please get this guy offa me! I've been spiked the whole mission!"

"Sorry Pitch 7, I can't vector any fighters to aid you, the Mobius and Wisna aircraft are busy with the Yellows and the bombers, we have no idea what these new bombers are, they're putting up a fight."

"Gee thanks, Sky Eye, just come right out and tell me I'm screwed next- Whoa!"

He swerved to avoid yet another missile. "Isn't that guy out yet! How many missiles he got back there!" Pitch 7's concentration was breaking, his flying got sloppier. The Yellow was still sitting comfortably at his six, no matter what. Now Jordan began panicking.

"What is up with this guy? He's jumping all over the place," Yellow 6 said with a smirk, "This is an ace pilot? Better end this disgrace before he crashes into someone." The Terminator weaved up and down, keeping the Hunting Falcon in its sights. "Guns!"

The bullets ripped through the Falcon's wing and one of its fuel tanks. "Dammit, I'm hit, losing fuel!" Jordan struggled with the aircraft and his own apprehension. He knew it would be over soon, if he didn't do something quickly. Surprisingly, the Yellow pulled up, off Pitch 7's tail. The sense of relief that rushed over Jordan soon vanished as he realized the bandit was just going into a high-speed yo-yo. Now the Yellow would be in the perfect place to launch a missile at him. Pitch 7 rolled and dived, hoping to lose the Yellow while he had the chance.

Coming down out of the yo-yo, six realized that the enemy ace had disappeared below him, and so he too dived. He tried to lock-on to the struggling F-16, but he couldn't. "Damn, what's the matter with this thing?" Six asked, angered by his plane's targeting system's sluggish response. It was in this moment the Yellow noticed he had no missiles left, he had shot them all at that ace and the bastard had dodged every single one of them. Suddenly, the advantage had turned to the IFOM ace's favor.

Before anything else could occur however, a radio transmission came in.

"All FEAF pilots, stand down and RTB, your job here is done, don't fire another shot, just come on home."

Yellow 6 cursed loudly and disengaged as ordered. "Not again, dammit! Someone back 'home' is gonna catch hell for this!" he thought furiously. Pitch 7 watched in wonder as the remaining Angels and Yellows egressed. Checking his radar, he saw why: all of the enemy bombers had been successfully shot down. They had saved most of the city and the forces, for now.

"All pilots, Sky Eye wishing you congrats, you threw them back, weren't too many bombs dropped. Descend below one angel and come on home. Keep an eye out, they may try to use the 'Sphynx' in revenge."

Pitch 7 dived for the deck at these words, he didn't need a reminder.

* * *

Falcon 4 watched as Angel 4 was the last one to regretfully give up the chase and retrograde, leaving the area quickly. Marshall knew that that ace would never rest until one of the two of them was in the ground, just like seven now was. Hearing Sky Eye's warning, Brian dived and returned to base with the rest of his squad.

* * *

"How did today go?"

"Sir, we managed to get about of a third of our infantry onto ships and out of here. Most of the airforce has left, just the few top cover squads left now. We should be able to pull out entirely by the eighteenth, two days from now. We'll be conducting transfer operations all throughout the night as well, we'll get out of here one way or another."


	13. Chapter 13: Belka's Terrible Reign

Brian Marshall got out of his bunk, dressed, and stepped out onto the flight deck. It was a crisp April morning, with a light rain drizzling onto the carrier he was aboard. It was April 19; the convoy was well underway on its journey to Yuktobania. He pulled on a poncho and strolled by the aircraft he was temporarily assigned to, an F-35. The jet was painted a gray and blue sky camo, similar to the one used on ISAF F-22 Raptors. There were additional pylons under the wings, each ready to carry an AA missile, if the enemy attacked again. Marshall went over the events of the past few days in his mind.

The first day they'd fought off Yellows, Blue Angels, and some of Erusea's finest, new bomber, the Tu-200 Vulture. During the night, the 'Sphynx' had razed the municipality again, which now looked like little more than a scrap heap. The next morning, they went up and fought off some Black, Red, Blue, and White Squadron pilots, who scored some hits on a stadium sheltering some of the infantry. The four IFOM and Yuke squads left in the defense of the city took turns patrolling the airspace. Each round usually fought off three waves of Erusian air forces. The 'Sphynx' took fairly random shots at the city and planes in the air. So far, the defending squads had taken eight casualties; two were from the Falcon and Pitch Squads, Falcon 6 and Pitch 2. Now their number was at only fourteen members.

Marshall sighed, remembering the pilots who had died, along with hundreds and thousands of their brothers in arms on the ground. The tragedy had finally ended just hours ago, when the last Erusian attacker sortie was shot down, just miles from the retreating convoy. Now, the entire IFOM army was aboard a fleet heading away from the homeland, abandoning it to the jaws of a ferocious enemy.

* * *

"Okay, bring it down a little… No, more to the left…"

The overseer watched to his right as a huge tube was lowered into its place on the pipeline. He wiped the sweat from his brow, it was well over a hundred degrees in this desert. The men were laying a massive duct for chemicals and electrical wires to be run safely to the XAM-001 compound. This was the nitty-gritty of Operation Electric Shuffle, the plan to extend the 'Sphynx's active range. It was taking place all over Usea, and was beginning as well in Belka, as a huge trans-ocean line was planned.

He turned to the left, and observed the other project's progress. A Sonnatrac Radar station was being built here to extend the range of the radar as well.

It was as Arthur Richardson had predicted: the Erusian government was planning on wiping out all opposition with their superweapon, and then conquering the world.

* * *

_Two days later…_

Mattock breathed deeply, relieved greatly as the last of the convoy pulled into a Yuke port. He jumped as several naval airforce planes roared overhead, on their way to nearby airbases. "I wonder how many of them we lost back there," he said quietly, "They must have lost some dear friends, I know I have." He sighed, and turned back down a hall in the hangar he was observing from. He boarded a plane and took off along with several other important officials, headed for Cinigrad.

* * *

April 26, 2026. Oured. No one, Osean, Usean, or Yuktobanian, expected what happened next.

The President took another sip of his coffee. He shuffled through the papers on his desk, searching for the latest report on another Belkan offensive. The Osean Army was taking heavy casualties as the war in Belka bogged down for the third major time.

"Oh, what I wouldn't give to have one of those FEAF elite squads flying for us, or, better yet, the Razgriz back." He stared wistfully out the window. What he saw made no sense to him, or anyone else, but it paralyzed him with horror.

A long, thin beam of pink light sliced through the buildings in the capital, including the one the President, the Vice President, and most of their staff had taken up residence in. Within three firings of the powered-up 'Sphynx,' Erusea had brought Osea to its knees; the President was dead.

* * *

It came quickly, immediately.

Once the President and his staff were dead, the Osean chain of command faltered and broke. The armed forces were thrown into chaos as the Belkans amassed on the front lines like never before. As the 'Sphynx' obliterated anything that dared not flee, the Belkans overran the country, piece by piece, city by city.

And 'they' watched all of it. 'They,' the only ones who might stem this tide of destruction. The Razgriz.

Kei Nagase sat with her husband, her old wingman, observing all the terror, the death, the destruction, flowing from their television. The Belkans, once again, were the reason for such a demise of boys and girls and, most of all, peace. They knew that their country needed them. They knew it was dangerous, risky, suicide. They knew what to do.

Kei's husband spoke, breaking the silence between the two of them. "I'll…call Grimm, and Snow. Kei, please let Bartlett know we'll be needing to meet him at Sand Island." Nagase nodded, and grabbed the telephone. 'Blaze' rushed out of the house.

* * *

"What?"

The men, especially the Osean general, could not believe it. The entire Osean government…?

"Sirs, General Thompson here is the highest ranking Osean official in this country, he…he's in charge now, for real."

Mattock stepped away from the rest of the men in the room. "They took out Oured with that thing," came his melancholy thoughts, "They…they could reach us here, too… They could reach anywhere."

"That's not the best part, the Osean Army, Air Force, Navy, you name it, all thrown into disarray. The Belkans are steamrollering right into Osea."

Several of the men grimaced; a few cursed. They knew it was hopeless to try and send aid, their own forces were in a semi-controlled chaos. Osea too, would have to be abandoned, for now.

* * *

Nagase, her husband, and their two wingmen, Hans Grimm and Marcus Snow, stood before the closed hangars on Sand Island. They had just arrived on their own civilian aircraft, and were awaiting Bartlett's arrival.

"It's been a long time, eh, Kei?" Grimm asked, breaking the ice.

Kei replied at a leisurely pace, as if in a daydream. "Yes, yes it has…"

"I've never been here before, this is quite the photo op, if you ask me," Snow stated. A pilot from the Navy, he had no reason to come to Sand Island Air Force Base.

A low droning noise far above them reached their ears, and they looked up. A C-1 plane was beginning a landing. The four of them watched as the plane hit the tarmac and slowed down, taxiing to the hangar where they were. Surprisingly, the one who got out of it was not Bartlett, but rather, Pops, their mentor from so long ago.

"Hey, look who we have here," he exclaimed.

"Pops!" Nagase said, surprised, "What are you doing here? Where's Bartlett?"

"He couldn't make it today, I'm sorry," Pops answered, "Besides, that guy doesn't know more about these aircraft than me."

Nagase ran and hugged Pops, and the others shook hands. They caught up a little, but Pops wanted to get right to the point.

He hobbled over to the hangar doors and flipped a switch; they screeched as they slid open, rusted from misuse. In the building were four new, shining, black and red F-25Bs. The planes were completely out of place in the decrepit structure, yet there they were.

"F-25B Syphoners, painted in your old scheme," Pops stated happily, "Been taking care of these beauties since we got 'em. They're even easier to fly than those X-02s you had once."

Nagase said what the others had been thinking. "How often do you come here Pops? You're not exactly young anymore, you know!"

Pops laughed, and carefully chose his words. "You younger people, no respect, you truly have been trained by Bartlett. I've had help, mainly Bartlett and some friends, we've kept them up to speed, just in case something like this ever happened. Here, go check them out, see what you think."

The Razgriz pilots each got in their respective planes' cockpits. Snow called to Pops, "What'll we do about weapons and fuel?"

"We're not too far from Yuktobania, and there's plenty of supplies coming from there. Whatever you guys need, Bartlett'll get it for you." He chuckled, and then asked the pilots, "So, what do you intend to do now?"

This time, Blaze spoke up. "We're going to fight. As long as we can, as hard as we can, we will fight them, for our country. Let them know they'll never conquer us completely."

Pops smiled at Blaze. These pilots wore the same looks of sheer determination they had once so many years ago, before launching off the sinking _Kestrel_. Pops simply said, "Alright then, help me load weapons, you're already topped off with fuel. I believe you will do what you seek to accomplish…Razgriz."

* * *

"Alright, let's sweep up deese idiots right now Drossel 4."

The Belkan pilot formed up on his wingman. The two of them, Drossel 4 and Meteor 8, were patrolling the airspace of occupied Osea, looking for any targets that hadn't run away. They had just spotted two F-15s launch from an otherwise abandoned airbase, and moved to intercept and shoot them down. The white Belkan YF-23s split off as their enemies did, each trailing his own target.

"I got you, you goddamned Osean," Meteor 8 said over the radio, "Fox 1."

The F-15 swerved and tried to escape, but the missile struck home and the jet exploded. The pilot never got out.

"Bwahahaha! Take dat bastard! How's it feel now!"

The Belkans were roaming freely, killing at will. Meteor 8 joined up with Drossel 4, and the two gunned down the other F-15, ensuring he didn't bail out either.

"Say, whose kill is dat?" Drossel 4 asked his wingman. "Who cares? He's still dead, dat's good enough." The two laughed their heads off, they were thrilled to be having vengeance on one of the countries they hated for so long.

"Alright, I'm running low on fuel, where's deh nearest tanker?"

"Dere's one over deh Eaglin Straits, not too far."

"Alright, let's-"

Drossel 4 was cut off; his jet burst into flames, it had been hit by a BVR missile.

"Agh! Dammit, Drossel 4, come in! Are you dere?" The wingman didn't respond. He too, was dead. As Meteor 8 turned his aircraft around his wingman's buring wreck, he caught a glimpse of four black planes coming for him. It was the last thing he ever saw.

* * *

"Gentlemen, please have a seat."

"Cut deh crap Edelmann, vat's dis all about?"

The Belkan High Command, mostly made up of Gray Men and warmongerers, had called an emergency meeting. The Commandant of the Principality (The Principality of Belka's leader) Dirk Edelmann had been informed of terrifying news, news that he now revealed to the other men in the room.

"Alright, dere is a rumor, dat two of our fine pilots in the Air Force have been killed by Osean fighter pilots."

"Dat's it? Dat happens, dis is var!"

"Nein, I know, Mr. Zimmermann, be patient! Now, deese pilots have been making a path of destruction up to here, around the ruins of Cranston City. Survivors report seeing black F-25Bs vith red trim und… deh Ghosts of Razgriz insignia."

There was a collective gasp from some of the people in the room; others just sat back, stunned; Peter Zimmermann just sat still, already planning their next step.

"Now. Action must be taken, immediately. Vee must come up vith a vay to kill dose pilots, before they can… potentially unite the shattered Osean forces. Any toughts? Ideas?"

Zimmermann replied quickly, "Ve must send vord to Erusea. Ask to borrow, perhaps, one of deir ace squads. Den ve attack the damn ghosts head-on. Vith every jet fighter ve've got."

Edelmann nodded and sent one of the officers to the communications room. "Alright. Ve vill obtain deh use of an Erusian squad, und dey vill lead the attack on deh Razgriz Demons. Let us hope ve vill kill dem."

* * *

"Edge, Swordsman, Archer, disperse and engage at will."

Blaze's wingmen heeded his order, and they fanned out over a battle between some overwhelmed Osean infantry and powerful Belkan tanks. Blaze rolled in on one of the vehicles.

"Dropping," he called as a warning. The guided bomb glided smoothly to its target, detonating with lethal force. Blaze selected another tank, and continued his assault. He heard his wingmen occasionally, listening as they launched long-range air to surface missiles and bombs as well.

The soldiers on the ground sprang out of their foxholes and from behind their cover when the last tank fell to the Razgriz; they screamed and cheered as the four planes joined up overhead and flew off.

"Alright Razgriz, on to the next target, the forward Belkan HQ."

* * *

"Heads up, ve've got four bogeys approaching HQ, fly out und identify."

The Belkan Squadron laughed until tears came to their eyes. Four planes trying to attack an HQ guarded by twenty! They must be suicidal!

"Haha, roger Augen, ve'll go check dem out," replied Bussard 1, "Let's go ladies!" Five of the twenty white Su-47s and new 'Belkan Fighter – 9's, codenamed 'Blizzards,' broke off and headed out to intercept and identify the fighters.

"Dis is Bussard 1 of deh proud Belkan Air Force, identify yourselves, aircraft und pilots."

"Belkan fighter pilot Bussard 1, say your prayers now so you can die in irony at the merciless hands of the Razgriz."

The Belkan pilots stopped smiling, and we're looking rather confused. Then they caught sight of the four planes, black and red F-25s, the most terrible things they'd ever seen.

"Break, Bussard squad!" The Berkuts and Blizzards were sent spralling as a hail of AMRAAMs came their way. Two were downed in an instant, and never had the chance to eject.

"Scheisse! Bussard 1 engage, ve've been attacked! I repeat, ve've been-"

His transmission was ended by a Sidewinder from Blaze. "That's another kill. Looks like more have come to the slaughter, heads up." The Razgriz stiff-armed the fifteen remaining bandits, ending in more dead Belkans. It was four against twelve, an staggering advantage in the Belkans' favor, yet they were helpless.

"I can't get him off me! Someone save me!"

"Archer, fox 2!"

Blaze listened as the Belkan's scream trailed off as his plane went down. Nine to four.

"Dey're too good, vee can't vin dis! Let's get out of here!" "You'll stay to deh end, Bussard 6! Die, Razgriz, d-" "Bussard 2, come in! Bussard 2!" The Belkans fell apart; terrified by the death of so many comrades caused by so few fighters. They disengaged and sped off on full afterburner.

"Deh Demons have returned to kill us all! God has abandoned us!"

Blaze watched the last plane go. He would get them, no matter where or when, but he would, they would. But for now…

"Razgriz, arm the bunker busters." The four planes ascended in perfect formation and dived on the top of the bunker. All four released a penetrating bomb at the bunker and pulled up. They watched as the bunker imploded after a few seconds, obviously obliterated by the bombs.

"Mission is complete, let's go home for now guys," Blaze told his wingmen. The four planes drifted back towards Sand Island.

* * *

"Prime Minister."

"Edelmann, nice to see you."

The Erusian Prime Minister looked at the screen, a live video was being patched through to Belka. "How goes Operation Distance Assistance?"

Dirk laughed. "I vill never tire of hearing that name. All goes vell, vee have captured the entire country. Dere are only a few problems. Deh Razgriz, deh demons from so long ago, have returned, und are inspiring deh remaining Osean forces to fight back. Dey vill be all destroyed soon however. Vee just make one request, perhaps one of your elite squadrons could lead deh attack on deh Razgriz. Vee vill back dem up vith our entire air force."

"I will look into that Edelmann. Now, what's the state of Osean command and cities?"

"Hell," the Belkan said, smirking.

"Ah, good, good. Now, for the point of this conversation." The Minister sat up straight and talked directly into the camera relaying the images of the men to each other, "Your men can make do without aid from the 'Sphynx' for now, correct? We require it to finish those mongrels hiding in Yuktobania off."

"By all means sir, please stop vaporizing this land, I quite like it."

The Minister cackled at Edelmann's remark. "Consider it done Dirk. For now, guten Tag."

"Guten Tag, Minister!" The screen went blank.

The Minister turned to the only other man in the room, the general who had 'replaced' the assassinated previous one.

"Sturmoff, you heard it. Send word for the XAM-001 to open fire on Yuktobania, hit anything that moves, breathes…no, shoot anything that _exists_ on that damned continent!" He roared with laughter as the General Sturmoff saluted and left.

* * *

Sorry for such horrible, horrible accents! Hope it wasn't too hard to understand... 


	14. Chapter 14: Absent Without Leave

"Hey man, don't be so down about it."

Aaron looked up at Ericks. "What do ya want, James?"

"You to stop being so stupid over one failed mission!"

Aaron stood up and stretched. "I'm not uptight about it," he lied. Aaron had been feeling down ever since that mission over the factory, especially since Richardson had never heard of any plane with four wings.

"Really. I can see right through you man, somethin' ain't right. Hey, Jones! Get everyone in the cars! Let's go drinking tonight! This boy here needs to get sloshed!"

"Ugh, no thanks Ericks, I'll stay here, if that's all…"

"Oh, shut up."

Ericks dragged Aaron to the squadron bus and threw him in a seat. "You're comin' along whether you want to or not," James told him. Jones, as the squad leader, was chosen to drive. "Where should we go guys?"

"How about that one place, that 'Sky' something or other."

"Sky Kid Café?"

"Yeah."

"Alrighty then!" Jones stepped down on the gas, and the van lurched forward, into the evening dusk.

* * *

It was another busy night at the Sky Kid. The barkeep bustled about, pouring drinks, serving them, collecting empty glasses. He heard the bell over the door jingle, and saw that about fifteen more people had walked into the bar. The men and women already there eyed them, trying to decipher who they were. The patch on each of their sleeves was that of the Free Erusian Air Force, but the insignia was one that no one recognized.

"Listen up grunts," commanded one of the men as the others sat down at the bar. "We're commandeering the place for the FEAF, everyone else, out." Mostly everyone laughed, save for the pilots themselves and the barkeep.

"Alright, let me repeat myself."

He drew a 9mm from his holster and pointed it at someone's beer at the end of the bar. He fired once and shattered the mug into many tiny slivers and sharp fragments. The soldiers all raced for the door, leaving their drinks, and several coats, behind.

"Sorry about that," the man said, sitting down at the bar. Some others spread out to the tables that had been recently vacated. "I'm Jones, the leader of this squad," he continued, extending his hand. "You're a pilot then?" the barkeep asked, grasping and shaking Jones's hand. "Yes, these men and myself make up the proud Seraph Squadron." The barkeep chuckled and said, "Haven't been overrun by a FEAF squad since the Continental War. Back then it was the Yellow Squadron."

Aaron, who had been sitting quietly, jerked his head up at the mention of the Yellows. He asked the keep, "You know any of them?"

"Er, I did, when I was young, they came here, their favorite place to hang out. They'd tell me stories of their air battles, news on the war, and rumors about this ace that Yellow 13 always longed to meet in battle."

"Yellow 13? That callsign isn't used anymore."

"Because of _the_ Yellow 13! He was Erusea's top scoring ace of the time. Only he met his end at Farbanti, shot down by the opponent he truly wished to fight," the keep responded, leaning against the bar. "Who was that?" Aaron questioned, knowing little about the actual pilots who had taken place in the Continental War.

"You don't know? The ribbon, the Grim Reaper…Mobius 1."

The barkeep moved down the bar towards Aaron, who was so keen on his story. "Back then, that was all he wanted, a good pilot who could actually challenge him in the skies. But there was no one who came close to matching his skill, not even his wingman, Yellow 4."

"Yellow 4 was a woman, right?"

"Yes, indeed she was, but she had 13's absolute trust as a wingman. She never left him undefended in the sky, nor on the ground. Well, until the fateful ISAF attack on Stonehenge. She went up with her plane greatly damaged. The resistance back then, which, I admit, my wife was a part of, blew up the squadron's runway, damaging her plane and giving her light shrapnel wounds. But she went up nevertheless, and never came back."

"She must have been a very honorable person, never to give up defending her lead," Aaron stated slowly, quite awed by the tale.

"Makes me wish you guys would do the same for me," joked Seraph 1. Everyone laughed.

"If you met a Yellow today, I tell you, they won't seem like one," Aaron told the barkeep, "They've lost their honor, they are probably nothing like the Yellows of long ago. How good was 13 anyway?"

"Look at the wall over there. That bit with scribbles all over it was made by the squad's adjutant. It includes each of the member's running kill scores."

Aaron got up and walked over to the wall. A portion had been covered by a glass case. Behind the case were several sketches on the wall itself. There would be a callsign, then their score marked by crude aircraft doodles. He scanned the wall and came across 13's score. Below it were the most drawings on the wall, there were so many, they exceeded that of all the other pilots' kills added together. "To save you the trouble of counting, I'll tell you how many he has," came the barkeep's voice, "When they first arrived here, 13 had sixty-four kills. By the time he was shot down, he had seventy-two. Or at least six more. He might not have told us all of them back then."

"Oh," he said, seeing the confused stares all around him. "My wife and I, followed the squad all the way to Farbanti. We watched as his five planes took on the ribbon and were all shot down. Only one of them was able to bail out, and he was killed in a later fight with the Mobius Squad."

Ericks let out a slow whistle, glancing at the wall. "That's a pretty impressive record, I'd say. Shame such a pilot was…"

There was a moment of silence, broken by the barkeep when he remembered the men didn't have any drinks. He scurried about, taking orders and filling up the fifteen glasses. Aaron was in a much better mood now, after learning about one of his predecessors in the FEAF. He turned to watch the TV that the barkeep had just turned on. The program was one broadcast by the resistance through their own satellites. The barkeep's TV set had been programmed to receive such shows in the Continental War. A reporter in the field was talking about the 'Sphynx' and how much damage it did to a civilian city in Yuktobania. None of the Seraph pilots were expecting the devastation laying just behind the man. The reporter went on. He spoke of how Erusea now aimed the 'Sphynx' at "damn well whatever they please" and utterly destroy it, whether it be militant or civilian. They switched to a panning shot of the city behind the reporter, or, rather, the ruins of it. There were no skyscrapers left; everything was chaotically thrown around, cars, buildings, even some trains and boats, but mostly scrap metal from the once proud and towering skyscrapers; the only thing that now reached into the blue skies was smoke from the collapsed structures.

The pilots were silent for a lengthy time. Slowly, Jones stood up, shaking his head. He stood on his chair and called attention to himself, clearing his throat with a loud cough.

"Fellow Seraph pilots! I have made a decision. This government that we all work, fight, and die for is simply using us! They are harming innocent civilians, no, killing them, by the thousands! This is an outrage that we will no longer facilitate with our skills. I ask you, not as your leader, but as your friend, to join me. I…I fly to Yuktobania, and I ask you to come if you wish. It means defying my country, but, my friends, if there is anything I have learned, it is that honor and justice take priority over greed and hatred. Thank you, Yellow 13, wherever you are now, for helping me see clearly. The choice is yours, follow me, or stay and fight for your corrupt government."

There was a tense silence. Several pilots looked around, unsure, seeing if anyone would go. The younger pilots' eyes were filled with terror. What would they do? If their leader left, they might have to be the ones to…

Aaron stood up. "I'm with you. I don't care if no one else is, I am joining the Independent _Forces_ of Mattock."

"Well if he's goin' then so am I man!" Ericks added.

"I, Seraph 10, swore to follow you no matter what, sir. That hasn't changed."

"I'll go. I'm not gonna leave my flight lead!" "Same here!" "Yeah! Let's do it!"

And so, soon all fifteen pilots officially declared themselves members of the IFOM, and ripped the FEAF symbol off their jackets. The barkeep simply smiled, and wished them good luck. Before they left, the Seraph began singing the Usean anthem, not that of Erusea's. They cheered it and sang while raising their glasses and drinking to the longevity of Mattock.

"O'er azure skies, and emerald plains, where freedom and justice prevail!"

A man who had been sitting in a dark part of the bar then rose and left, unnoticed in the furor of excitement. He had no reason to have left when Seraph 1 threatened the bar. After all, the bar had been 'commandeered' for the FEAF, and he was Blue Angel 4, a pilot as well.

"With courage and strength, we'll fight to the end for liberty in our land!"

* * *

The Seraph pilots stared into their hangar. Their Berkuts were being tuned up by the mechanics, there was no way they could use them to escape. "Crap, there's goes that plan. Any new ideas?" asked Jones, quite put down now. They had planned on tricking the mechanics into thinking they had an urgent, secret mission and to get them to fill up the planes with fuel and weapons for their flight. Now, that possibility seemed hopeless. Some of the aircraft had both engines out for servicing. "Captain, how about the junk fighters?"

"You mean those pieces of crap they got rusting back in the other hangar?"

"Yeah, F-4Es and F-5Es too, they should still be flyable and fueled up, they're going to be flown out tomorrow to the scrap heap."

"Well that gives us no choice. Let's go!"

The fifteen men made their way across the tarmac to the old hangar where the jets were indeed sitting, ready for tomorrow. "Alright, pick a plane gents." Aaron walked up to a Phantom, a big, gray fighter with a red-orange lightning bolt on the tail. "It's good enough for me," he said, and climbed up inside. He didn't have a backseater, but he knew the plane didn't need one to just fly. To his right, Seraph 5 had taken one of the F-5s. It was one of the few planes that had weapons. Seraph 8 noted that he had nothing to defend himself, cursed himself for not choosing right, and closed the cockpit canopy. "Alright, everybody ready? Let's roll, people."

They taxied out to the runway. The men in the control tower had settled down for the night, not expecting a large flight to be taking off. One of the men jumped to the microphone attached to the radio. "Uh, attention planes preparing for takeoff, please identify yourself and your intentions."

"This is Seraph 1. The Seraph Squadron is taking off on a top secret mission, do not report this, repeat, do not take this down in your log. HQ will explain later, over."

"Okay, roger Seraph 1, you flight is cleared for takeoff."

It was good that it was so dark (and the men in the tower so gullible), for the air traffic controller could not tell what planes the Seraph were in. They began to takeoff, one by one, until all were airborne. "Okay, we got everybody? Let's go Seraph, to the southeast now…" And so they set off, unhampered, to join the enemy.

* * *

"Sir, we have, uh, a Lt. Dalton Rhodes to see you sir."

"Rhodes? You mean the Blue Angel pilot? Send him in."

Four walked into the commander's room. "What is it Rhodes? It's barely three in the morning." "Sir, the Seraph have gone AWOL and are joining the enemy," Dalton said in one breath. A few minutes later, everyone on the base was awake. "This is the base commander! Fifteen of our own pilots have made off in junk jets and are defecting to the enemy! Intercept and shoot them down immediately!"

The Red Devils had been sitting yawning periodically, and now were wide awake. The Seraph… are the enemy? Devil 1 spoke what the whole squad was feeling, "Sir… you mean you want us to… kill the men we've trained and fought with? Our best friends?" The commander looked furious, and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Angel 4. "The mission will be accomplished, sir." But the man scowled at this. "If you people would let me talk, I could finish. We have made the decision to allow the Yellow Squad to pursue, not any of you. Who knows? You may decide to join them, and that is something we can not risk having happen." He cast a glare at the Devils as he spoke the last words.

And thus, it was the Yellows launching to attack the Seraph, who were now flying unaware near Los Canas. Yellows who were eager to have vengeance on the Seraph for every little thing they hated about them; to give their newly built and delivered Su-51 Night Ravens a try; to assume the role of Erusea's best squadron. It was now sunrise, May 14, 2026.


	15. Chapter 15: The Eagles' Prey

"Seraph 1 to all pilots, we're just over Olim Ravine, approximately an hour off the coast at this pace."

Aaron checked his jet's instruments. The group of fifteen aircraft was cruising high above Olim Ravine, a branch of the Gnome Ravine, in the southeast of the Usean continent. He looked to the east; the sun was rising, a deep blood red colored ball in an otherwise pink, orange, and blue sky. The malevolent sun and the barren landscape far below seemed to show the feelings of the Seraph; there was something they had been fearing ever since taking off.

Seraph 9 yawed his aircraft a bit towards Aaron's. He asked, "So, what do you think they'll have us do over there? Do you think they'll believe us, or even let us into their country at all? Won't they shoot us down?"

Jones answered, "We'll wait for them off their coast, let them escort us down, then we can just use our squad's pins and emblems to prove who we are." Ericks sighed exasperatedly over the radio. Jones did too. "What's the problem Ericks?"

"I left my pin at the base!" Aaron was the only pilot who laughed, and even then he silenced quickly. Everyone was uptight, waiting for a retaliation they knew was coming.

But then, as if the very thoughts of the Seraph had been betrayed to enemy ears, the heavens were torn asunder; a ray of energy focused on Seraph 9's plane, and in an instant, had reduced it to shattered, molten steel fragments, which rained upon the ravine below. It was the predator, the lion, the 'Sphynx.'

Richardson reacted first, knowing more about the weapon than the others, "Dive! Get below one thousand feet!" The fourteen remaining aircraft hastened to descend, but the pilots ran out of airspace.

"We can't get that low! We're stuck at fifteen hundred feet, the ground's too high!" Jones's mind raced. Behind him, the laser shot in and obliterated another jet, the jet belonging to Seraph 6. Finally, he came up with an idea. "The canyon! Get into the ravine!" Another pilot yelled his head off, "Are you nuts! It's suicide, who do you think we are, Mobius 1!"

Jones cut the rest of his griping off. "Just do it dammit! Do you want to live or die!"

So the thirteen broke for the ravine. Another craft, Seraph 14's, was annihilated. "Dammit! They got fourteen!" Finally, the twelve reached the crevasse and dived in. The laser ceased, but they knew they couldn't go out of the canyon. It was suicide inside the ravine, yet certain death outside. As if the death of three friends wasn't enough, the transmission that came over the radio channel chilled them to the bone.

"Aquila Flight, this is AWACS Eagles' Eyes, the fifteen AWOL targets have entered Olim Ravine, pursue and destroy them all."

* * *

Yellow 4 followed six into the ravine. Dead ahead were the fleeing F-4s and F-5s. They broke up and went separate ways, as did the Yellows. Four and six chased after three F-4s.

"Seraph 3 here, they're right behind us!"

The Yellow smiled, and laughed as hard as he could. At last, at long sweet last, they'd be able to shoot the Seraph down, no questions asked.

"Yellow 4, fox 2!"

The missile sprang after the Phantom, shrieking with a banshee's voice. It tracked the F-4 and slammed into the right engine. The plane spiraled out of control and crashed into the canyon wall, taking the pilot with it.

"Two left here, nice kill four." Yellow 6 targeted the next airplane. It was swerving hard left and right, just managing to avoid his missile lock and the sides of the ravine.

"Screw this, I'm closing for guns," Six declared. He throttled up, and pulled the trigger. Round after round disappeared into the Phantom. Smoke and fuel trailed out of a wing, which caught fire. The plane's circuits fried, and it fell out of the sky, smashing into the bottom of the crevasse.

"Another angel, for real!" The two Yellows cackled at the dead Seraph. Now there was one left here.

"Hey, Seraph! Who are yeh?" Four asked, interested in knowing just who he was killing. The pilot responded calmly, "Seraph 1. Here to avenge my friends, three and seven."

The Yellows laughed again at the flailing F-4 in front of them. Their Night Ravens maneuvered flawlessly around every rock, yet the Phantom had taken a few scrapes every now and then. Suddenly, Yellow 4 noticed another F-4 fly past through a branch in the ravine.

"Six, I got another bandit off to our three o'clock, you got this guy."

Four broke off and followed down another branch, after the enemy pilot.

* * *

Aaron checked his radar. There were only eight friendly aircraft on screen. From what he knew, the Yellows' planes were stealthy, and so wouldn't be any of the aircraft on the screen. Instinctively, he checked six, only to find a fighter coming up behind him. It most definitely was not an F-4 or F-5.

"Oh, shit! Damn, a Yellow!" he broke towards the cliff, hoping to use it in case a missile came his way. Nothing did, except a radio message, from the Yellow. He was using a very childish, mocking voice.

"And which little runaway angel do we have here?" he called. Seraph 8 was blunt.

"It's Seraph 8, Aaron Thatcher, bitch!"

"My, my, what a foul little angel, why don't we…" He stopped mocking. "…send you straight to hell!"

Aaron watched as a missile lit up and began chasing after his jet. He waited, and jinked just in time. The missile crashed into the canyon wall. "Ooh, a tricky little angel eh? More like a devil perhaps?" Four mocked again. He fired another missile, and eight barely dodged around a boulder fast enough.

"Haha! This is fun, Seraph!" the Yellow snickered. A third missile. Aaron's instincts took over; he pitched up, and went into a loop. This caused his jet to climb straight out of the ravine. The Yellow watched his stupidity as a bright shine on the horizon grew bigger, brighter, closer.

Aaron saw it too, and knew what it was. With in seconds, his jet was enveloped in a bright pink glow, blinding him. He just kept pulling back on the stick, and braced against the shuddering of his aircraft. There was a piercing screech, then nothing but the jet engines. Aaron opened his eyes. He was in the ravine again, the Yellow was in front of him, and behind him, the 'Sphynx's laser exploded a rock on the rim of the canyon. He was lucky, the laser hadn't burned through his wing far enough to the fuel. It did, however, mess with the electronics, and his plane wasn't so responsive.

But it didn't matter, he was on the tail of the Yellow, the enemy who thought he probably just died. It was a golden opportunity!

"Fox 2!" Nothing happened. "Guns! Fox 3, fox 1! Anything!" In dismay, Aaron remembered that his plane had no weapons. He despaired as the Yellow simply slowed down and scissored back and forth, causing him to overshoot. It was over, he knew it.

The Yellow did too. "Bwahahaha! This is too much fun! I'm loving this, aren't you Seraph!" The Yellow seemed crazed by his blood lust. "Hahaha! Die, Seraph, die!"

"YOU BASSSSSSSTTTTTTARD!" Four snapped his head around, looking behind him. He saw in time a missile that struck his left engine, then another that hit his fuselage, and lastly, some bullets that cut into the cockpit. Within seconds, Yellow 4 was dead, his craft reduced to a flaming wreck that hit the ravine wall and shrapnelled pieces everywhere.

"Thatcher, man! Are you alright!"

Aaron cussed in relief. It was Ericks. "Damn, I owe you big time Ericks!"

"Dang straight! Haha, I toasted that jerk, didn't I? Sierra hotel!"

Aaron smiled, but his expression sobered as he watched the radar. It seemed that two more Seraph pilots had been downed. He wondered who was left.

"Hey man, let's get outta here, that cave'll hide our radar images, and it comes out somewhere near the coast. Just hope it isn't too dark!"

And so the two entered the cave, dodging rocks jutting out now and then.

* * *

"Just stop moving, you'll die anyway! Fox 1!"

Jones evaded the missile sent his way, ducking around a corner. So far, Yellow 6 hadn't been able to shoot him down. "You idiot! Just how do you expect to get out of here alive!"

"I'm doing it to give my wingmen more time away from you! And I think it's a bonus if you waste all your missiles on me!"

"Bah! I could kill your whole squad with just guns anyway. Fox 2!"

Seraph 1 swerved into a nearby cave, the missile detonating on the entrance. The Yellow followed. "I told you, you can't escape! Why go somewhere where my plane excels? You Seraph are all dumbasses, I swear!"

Jones stayed calm, ignoring the Yellow's taunts and jeers. He had to hold out as long as he could. Now he focused on avoiding the huge stalactites and stalagmites in the cave. His sluggish F-4 couldn't respond quickly enough, and he scraped several of them. The Yellow was undamaged, his agile Su-51 easily maneuvering around in the cave. The only advantage for Jones was that the Yellow couldn't fire anything at him.

"Gah, why did you-" he started, stopping temporarily to save breath during a high G turn, "-have to…argh! Fly into a…stupid…cave?"

Jones smirked at the Yellow's annoyance. His look turned into a grimace; the cave was ending. The two jets sped out into the light again, still in the ravine.

"Oh no, looks like your cave has run out," Six jeered, "Just like your life."

Jones himself knew it was over. He pitched his nose down towards the floor of the canyon, and waited for the Yellow's missile.

The last thing he heard was the cruel Eagle's triumphant voice, "Fox 2!"

* * *

"This is Eagles' Eyes, I do not see any more aircraft on radar. Good job Aquila, all Seraph destroyed."

The Yellow pilots roused a cheer. They had their revenge, their long bottled-up hatred of the Seraph.

"Haha! Yeah! We got those bastards good!" "Woohoo! They're really are angels now huh! Haha!"

The Yellows all joined up and headed for home, satisfied at last. They began singing the Erusian anthem over and over again on their way back to base.

* * *

Aaron shielded his eyes from the bright afternoon sun. He and Ericks had just emerged from the cave, and were just minutes from the coast. They were flying under a thousand feet, avoiding any passive radars as well. Both were silent and hadn't spoken since Yellow 4 was shot down. Ericks finally broke the uneasiness between them.

"Hey man. Do you think anyone else got out too?"

"Aaron took time to respond. "I don't know. The last time I checked, there were only eight of us."

"Damn…"

Aaron searched again. He noticed several returns on the screen, five of them, north of their position. "Hey James, we got some guys up north, should we check 'em out? They're friendly."

"You mean their IFF response is, we don't know about the pilots. Whatever, we should probably go look."

They changed bearings, and flew to identify the radar blips, all heading for away from the Usean coast.

* * *

"Well, that looks like an F-5."

Seraph 8 and 5 had just arrived near the first jet. It was indeed an F-5, belonging to Seraph 12.

"Eight! Five! Oh god am I glad to see you and not some Yellow!" The three joined up and continued onto the next one.

When they got closer, crying came over the radio waves clearer and clearer. This plane was an F-5 as well, Seraph 15 was piloting.

Ericks pulled up to him. "Hey, kid!" Davis didn't hear him through his sobs.

"K-I-D, KID!"

This brought him to his senses. "E-ericks? Th-th-thatcher?" His voice quavered. "Everyone else, everyone else, everyone else…"

"We know John. Come with us, there's another plane up a little ways north, we need to know if he's a Seraph or not."

The boy broke into sobbing again, but followed after the other three.

The fifth plane was an F-4, a Seraph was in fact the pilot. "Thatcher, Ericks, Barr, and Davis!" he exclaimed, "You're all alive!"

"And so are you Richardson," Aaron replied, recognizing his wingman's voice.

"Thank God for that…"

Ericks impatiently spoke up. "Alright, this reunion has to end now, what are we going to do?"

"Go to Yuktobania of course. I don't think there's any point in…in waiting here," Aaron declared, "We'll do whatever it takes, we'll get into their airforce, their navy, their army, whatever! Just to get our vengeance. We can't let our friends have died in vain! Fellow pilots, I will not let Jones and the others have died for nothing. Will you!"

The four others were still unsure of their future. They replied disdainfully, "Yeah…"

"I don't believe you! WILL WE LET OUR FRIENDS HAVE DIED IN VAIN!"

"No."

"Louder!"

"NO!"

"What did you say?"

"NO WE WON'T!"

Aaron smiled. Davis's weeping had stopped, the other pilots were rejuvenated with the will to get even.

"Then let's go! There's some airplanes not too far from here, off the coast of Sotoa! Let's make our way there, and see if we can't get fuel for the journey to the Yuke continent."

The other pilots sobered down, thinking of their predicament. They might not make it after all. But they had no choice. All five turned for the Sotoan coast.

* * *

"Uh, Wisna flight, finish refueling ASAP, we've got five enemy returns, closing fast on your position."

Wisna 1 topped off on fuel. He pulled his F-15E away from the tanker and headed off towards the enemy aircraft, weapons hot. He and six others eventually closed to visual range.

"Tally ho! Should we engage AWACS?"

A broadcast over an unsecured channel reached the Wisna pilots' ears. "No, hold your fire! We come unarmed, please, hold your fire!"

"Wisna, this is AWACS, identify the bogeys. Keep your eye on them, but don't open fire unless fired upon."

The seven Yuke aircraft surrounded the five unidentified jets, which they realized were nothing more than F-4s and F-5s.

"Pilots, identify yourselves and your intentions."

"I am Seraph 8 of the Free Erusea Air Force, we have rebelled against our country and seek refuge in Yuktobania, and more immediately, fuel. We have been through a lot, any help is appreciated."

Wisna 1 looked back at his RIO, confused. The Erusian Seraph Squadron?

"AWACS, um, we need some advice here…"


	16. Chapter 16: Angels of the Arrowhead

* * *

"When they have finished their testimony, the beast that comes up from the abyss will wage war against them and conquer them and kill them…Those from every tribe, tongue, and nation will gaze on their corpses for…days, and they will not allow their corpses to be buried. The inhabitants of the earth will gloat over them and be glad…because these…prophets tormented the inhabitants of the earth. But after the…days, a breath of life…entered them. When they stood on their feet, great fear fell on those who saw them." – Revelation, Ch. 11: 7-8 & 9-12

* * *

"Sir, Commander Mattock, sorry for the intrusion."

The men leaning over the conference table looked up at the officer who had just burst into the room. It was a meeting of the heads of the IFOM, the Osean Federation, and the Union of Yuktobanian Republics. They had been reviewing possible plans for invasion of Erusea from neutral Wellow. Now everyone's attention was drawn to the officer.

"Sir, I have a report, it's some very good news. The first part is from a Yuke AWACS that was flying near Sotoa. They say that five aircraft, F-4s and F-5s, rendezvoused with a refueler aircraft while it was topping off some Wisna Squad aircraft. They identified themselves as part of the Erusian elite Seraph Squad, and said something about having been attacked. They're being escorted to an airfield now, you're to meet them yourself, sir, at 1700 hours."

Mattock sat down, a shocked expression on his face. "Well… why?" he asked, "Why F-4s and F-5s? Why did they come here? Why are there only five of them?" "I'm sorry sir, we don't know why. You'll have to ask them yourself." "All right, nevermind. What's the second part then?"

"Well sir, stay seated," the officer continued, a smile spreading across his face, "It would seem that the Sonnatrac Radar of the 'Sphynx' has been damaged by a terrorist resistance group loyal to the IFOM's cause. Since losing its ability to locate and track targets, the 'Sphynx' has ceased firing. Repairs on the radar are progressing slowly, as the Erusian Prime Minister is now moving troops and air forces to Farbanti for a troop reviewing. It has been concluded that the 'Sphynx' will be most vulnerable during this time, sir. There will be no laser firing, no squads defending it, minimal AAA…a perfect opportunity if you ask me."

The Osean and Yuke heads of state leapt out of their seats and shouted and yelled themselves hoarse; this was the best news they'd heard in a long time. Mattock, on the other hand, remained firmly in his seat and asked, "So, who exactly do we send to attack it?" The laughter and joy died down quickly. No one wanted to risk their aces and best pilots on what was most likely a suicide mission. The Osean President made a suggestion.

"Perhaps you should wait until you meet with the Seraph pilots to decide. Find out why they're here, why there are only five." Mattock nodded, stood up, and walked towards the door. The Osean commander's voice rang out one last time. "Be careful Mattock, they might be here to kill you, we don't really know." Mattock nodded again and appointed a general in charge. He left in his motorcade without another word, heading for the airport where the Seraph had touched down.

* * *

"The five of them just sit still, nobody says anything."

Mattock had arrived at the airport, and was speaking with an annoyed and confused employee. "They ignore us completely, no 'Hello's or 'Thank you's when we leave them food and-"

Mattock motioned for him to be silent and stay behind. Alone, Mattock walked to where the men were sitting. "I am Commander Mattock of the Independent Federation _of_ Mattock. Please identify yourselves," he demanded. The nearest man lifted his head, which seemed blurry and out of focus.

"He must have seen a ghost or something, look at him!"

Ignoring the employee, Mattock continued, "I repeat, please tell me your names, your squadron, where you've come from, and why." There was a pause, but one of the pilots shifted in his seat, then spoke up. "I am Aaron Thatcher…Seraph 8…these men are James Ericks, Seraph 5; Arthur Richardson, Seraph 10; Daniel Barr, Seraph 12; and Johnathan Davis, Seraph 15…" he said, taking his, time, pointing to each wingman. "Our squad decided to betray our country and join the IFOM, the whole attacking with the 'Sphynx' idea didn't strike our lead's fancy. We set out in junk planes because our other ones were being maintained, but…" The man stared at Mattock, his face pained and unnatural. "What proof do you have that you are pilots of the Erusian Seraph Squadron?" At this, one of the pilots, the one identified as Seraph 10, drew a pin from his pocket; it was a pair of wings with the word 'Seraph' and the number '41st' emblazoned on it.

"So," Mattock grinned, taking the pin gently from ten, "I have five aces here who have just flown from their airbase in Erusea? But…where is the rest of your squadron? Were there not fifteen of you?" The pilot's, Aaron's, head sank to his knees. Mattock knew instantly that this was a touchy subject, and a bad question, but it had to be answered. This time, another man, the one called Seraph 5 spoke.

"We were attacked man, first by the 'Sphynx,' then by the Yellows. We had to fly around in a canyon to avoid the laser. But the Yellows followed us, Yellows chasing our F-4s and F-5s down in their goddamned Su-51s… It wasn't an escape, it was a fucking slaughter! If you got shot down then, there was no chance, no time to eject. And…so…"

He trailed off, but it was clear to Mattock; there no longer was a Seraph Squadron, just these five refugees that the enemy must think are dead. He froze, thinking, "These pilots are presumed dead. Yet they are still alive, and the enemy doesn't know it. This could be very useful…" He turned to them and said, "I hope you still have the will to fight, to claim vengeance. Officially, you are all dead. From this day forward, you will be known not as the Seraph, but as a part of the recently annihilated 83rd Fighter Wing, 'Geist.' Your first sortie will take place one week from today, when you will attack the 'Sphynx.' Planes will be readied for you by then."

Mattock got up and walked away. The employee returned, and began to speak, but Mattock quickly stated, "They haven't seen a ghost, they are the ghost." The man, even more puzzled now, stopped following the commander. Mattock continued on to find the General of the Air Force. "Get five F-25Bs ready for them. (He jerked his head in the direction of the Seraph) Give 'em a nice paint job, one that'll scare the hell out of any Erusian who sees it." "Okay, but what'll we do for their insignia?" The two halted their brief stroll. Mattock looked out the window at the planes the Seraph had escaped in. "That one," he said, pointing to the red lightning bolt on Aaron's F-4's tail, "We'll call them the Bolt Squadron."

* * *

At that time in Usea, the Aquila Squad finally touched down at their base. They were all in a rather jovial mood, having done what they had desired to do for so long, kill the Seraph. Several pilots ran ahead of the others and returned with bottles of vodka and tequila. There was so much celebration, no one noticed that Yellow 4 was nowhere to be seen or found. The Yellows meandered into the briefing room, some rashly still clutching their bottles of alcohol and shouting, "Tequila for Aquila!" It took a long time to start the debriefing, and even then the rowdy pilots still interrupted from time to time.

"You people were successful in intercepting the rogue Seraph, congratulations. We've confirmed that each and every one has been shot down, by one of you men. Accordingly, you are to receive the Cross of Valor, for your bold motions in halting those…enemies." They began to award the papers that proved they had earned the medals, calling up the pilots in order of callsign. There was a tense pause when four never came forward.

"I repeat, Yellow 4, come forward and receive your medal document." But he never did. The glee and joy of the pilots and officials sobered when they all came to the same conclusion: if he had crashed or was shot down, then it might be possible that one or more of them had…

Yellow 6 punched the armrest of his chair. He knew that there were still some Seraph out there. The question was where? The headquarters at Farbanti was as happy as the Yellows when informed of this.

* * *

"Mr. Thatcher, sir? Commander Mattock wishes to see you."

Aaron watched the young airman leave. It was early morning, six days since he and the others had arrived here at Cinigrad. He hurriedly got dressed and rushed out the door. Outside, his wingmen were waiting. "Rise and shine man, it's time to get reassigned." "Ugh, sink and rust Ericks," Aaron replied apathetically. He drudged behind the others to find Mattock.

The Commander in Chief was expecting them at Terminal B in the airport. When they arrived, he was looking out a window, watching a cargo plane lift off. He turned when they walked up and saluted. "Gentlemen, welcome. As you know, you have been selected to attack the 'Sphynx.' First things first, however; look out at the tarmac." He pointed towards a group of planes surrounded by ground crewmen.

Aaron looked to where Mattock was pointing. Out on the maintenance line were five new model F-25Bs. The planes seemed like the crossbreed of a Red Devils F-22 and a Seraph Su-47. The aircraft had the Berkut's forward swept wings and canards, the Raptor's thrust vectoring nozzles and tail fins, and a Sukhoi-like cockpit on a Raptor nose section. Each of them was painted a dark, storm cloud gray, with red trim and lettering. On the vertical fins were red lightning bolt insignias, symbols of their new name. There was an ISAF arrowhead on the wings, but was emblazoned in a fiery red.

"You men are no longer the Seraph. All of those men are dead, they were all killed in the Olim Ravine Incident," Mattock began again, "You five are now known as the freshly recruited Bolt Squadron, a part of the 50th Tactical Fighter Wing, Geist. Your new callsigns, in order of previous…Seraph 15, Bolt 5. Seraph 12, Bolt 4. Seraph 10, Bolt 3, Seraph 8, Bolt 2…"

"Wait, what?" Mattock peered at Ericks, the one who had interrupted him. "Lt. Ericks?" James explained, "Look man, the best pilot here is undoubtedly this guy right here, make Thatcher the flight lead, not me!" Mattock turned to Aaron now. "Is that all right with you?" he asked, then added, with a grin, "Captain?" Aaron nodded in agreement, and Mattock continued, "Okay then, Seraph 5, Bolt 2. Seraph 8, Bolt 1, flight lead. Now, if you'll follow me…"

He pushed open a nearby door marked "Ground crews only,' and started down the stairs behind it. When the six men came to another door and opened it, they were on the tarmac. Mattock disappeared to the left, towards the new Syphoners. The pilots turned as well, and found the commander speaking with a Yuke enlistee, a sailor. Aaron, knowing little Yuktobanian, had no idea what either of the two was saying. Eventually, the sailor ran off to a helicopter down the flight line, and they took off. Mattock then motioned for the pilots to come closer.

"There is a Yuke sub-carrier just off the coast! (He began shouting to be heard over an engine test that had started) You are to fly your jets to Murska Air Base and be transferred to the sub from there! The sub is a Scinfaxi-class, the Gullfaxi, but is large enough to launch STOL aircraft like the F-25B Syphoner! The Gullfaxi will carry you and your planes to within range of the 'Sphynx!' From there, it is up to you guys! Good luck to you!" He smiled, looked again at the planes, and then turned back to the pilots.

"'I know your works, your labor, and your endurance, and that you cannot tolerate the wicked; you have tested those who call themselves apostles but are not, and discovered that they are imposters.' Revelation, chapter two, verses two through three. 'I know your works, your love, faith, service, and endurance, and that your last works are greater than your first.'"

And with that he left, the Bolt pilots preparing for their flight and long cruise. Ericks, now Bolt 2, was the first to notice that the IFOM symbol was nowhere on any of the planes; in their places were the red ISAF arrowheads.

* * *

When Mattock returned to the temporary 'Orange City,' Cinigrad, his first priority was to make a speech. "Attention civilians and militaries of Osea, Yuktobania, and Usea. I have reached a decision with the leaders of our allied countries: we have chosen to rename our alliance the 'New ISAF.' In light of recent realizations that our coalition's colors are the same as those of our enemy, the 'Orange City' and IFOM color of orange shall change to the 'Blue City' and blue, respectively. Our new emblem shall naturally be the arrowhead of the ISAF!"

Once he had finished his talk some time later, he walked over to a calendar backstage. Under May 26, the next day, he wrote, 'Death of the Predator.'


	17. Chapter 17: Operation Lion Hunting

* * *

"An… angel followed… and said in a loud voice, 'Anyone who worships the beast…will…drink the wine of… fury, poured full strength into the cup of… wrath, and will be tormented in burning sulfur before the holy angels…" – Revelation, Ch. 14: 9-11

* * *

Cheering. Singing. Shouting.

Thousands of Erusian citizens had turned out to see their victorious troops and air forces at review. The Erusian Prime Minister himself overlooked the street far below, filled with soldiers marching by and saluting, and trucks and tanks driving past. Civilians were going mad for the enlistees, grabbing some in hugs or kissing them; others giving gifts out to them; some were even flashing the soldiers. But the higher-ups knew better. None of these men had seen actual combat; they were reserves, and the real things were still deployed all over the continent.

Thirteen jets rocketed over the crowd; one formation of six jets followed by one of three aircraft and then one of four. The minister could see just a flash of yellow on the otherwise blue aircraft before they blew off, following the road. "Blue Angels," he thought, "Or at least I think it was them."

He looked down upon the marching men below him. He turned to watch the great, large, orange drapes emblazoned with the Free Erusea symbol decorating the building flap and shake in a gust of wind. He faced forward in time to see seven pairs of planes perform a fly-by. He recognized the gray camo of the Aquila Squadron on each. He looked far left at another formation of twelve airplanes, F-22s, all lined up in a 'V,' starting on their leader's flanks. They pulled off a quick simultaneous roll, again beginning with the lead plane and moving down the line. The minister's eyes wandered down to the red phone beside him on a quaint little coffee table. It was sitting silently, had been since the start of the review. This was the emergency alert phone, the very one that would ring if there was an attack. It hadn't yet, but he knew it would; the 'opportunity' the enemy thought existed was _too_ perfect.

* * *

"Oh no, not again…"

Aaron walked over to his wingman, Lt. Johnathan Davis, Bolt 5. The boy (Aaron still called him that, despite the fact he was twenty-one) hadn't quite gotten used to the pitching and churning of the Gullfaxi, and was leaning over a railing on the side of the AAA battery deck. Aaron patted him on the back (causing him to almost throw up on one of the men fixing a jammed AA gun) and asked where the other pilots were. Davis waved his arm spastically in their general direction.

Aaron left the kid alone and continued to find the rest of his friends. He saw a group by the forward left SAM launcher and headed towards them. Before he even got within earshot, a loudspeaker crackled to life overhead. "Attention pilots, please report to the briefing room. That is all." Aaron sighed and turned back the way he came.

He stopped outside of the briefing room door once he got there. Two other pilots were blocking his way, staring directly at him. One of them, tall, yet still shorter than the other, addressed Thatcher first. "You know, I've been wanting to kill you for the longest time, Seraph. But now you're already dead, and I'm going to be flying with you. Fate is strange like that," he said with a stern expression. Suddenly his face broke into a wide smile. "I'm Brian Marshall, Falcon 4. The one you let get away, remember? This is Jordan Nelson, Pitch 7." Aaron laughed as he shook the duo's hands. It was indeed strange; he knew he'd be flying with (previously known as) enemy aces, but never expected to go up with IFOM's most infamous ones on his first sortie with the New ISAF. The three walked into the room together, Brian and Jordan 'thanking' Aaron for shooting them down so many times.

The pilots from the Bolt, Falcon, and Pitch Squadrons were all seated, waiting for the briefing to begin. Aaron took a look around at the other Falcon and Pitch members; he realized with dismay that he was partly responsible for several unfilled seats, and so sank down deeper into his own. Fortunately for Thatcher's nerves, another official, the captain of the vessel himself, stepped into the room and began the briefing.

"The time has come at last, men. We will attack the 'Sphynx,' destroying it before repairs to its radar targeting system can be completed. Our research has revealed several key factors that will prove invaluable to our mission's success. First, the attack will correspond with the overviewing of troops and technology by the Erusian Prime Minister at Farbanti. While the Yellows, Angels, and Devils are away, we will strike at the target. It is defended by a radar alert system, which, if it detects a hostile or unknown radar return, will send a command to the engineers to retract the turret into a blast shelter underground, covered by a plate of steel capable of surviving the detonation of a nuclear bomb. The process of lowering and safeguarding the 'Sphynx' takes one minute. To minimize the possibility of this happening, only one aircraft, Bolt 1, will begin the attack. You, Captain Thatcher, are to strike the winches that lower the 'Sphynx,' effectively making the main turret a sitting duck."

He paused to regain his breath. "You must remain undetected at all costs until you arrive at the target area. After you destroy the winches, linger and wait for your squad, but be prepared to suppress any AAA batteries that activate. The rest of the Bolt aircraft and several from the Falcon and Pitch squads will then ingress and destroy the target."

He sighed, looking at Aaron as he listened intently. "I know this is certainly a great weight to put on your shoulders. You will carry the fate of the New ISAF and this continent into battle with you, to be decided later whether or not our hopes and dreams will be shattered. But never forget," he encouraged, now speaking to the whole group of pilots, "You are the best pilots in the world, nothing can deter you from the task at hand save your own fears. Go now! Reclaim the skies, earth, and sea from the clutches of a ruthless enemy! Falcon! Pitch! Bolt, the Seraph Ghosts! Many will learn from this day to tremble at the whisper of your names. Launch!"

* * *

"Okay, we're all clear. Bolt 1, take off immediately to clear the flight line."

Aaron was running through his pre-flight checks. "Roger. I'm praying this works, I really am." The far end of the flight deck (which formed the characteristic 'hump' on the topside of the sub) opened up, allowing sunshine to flow in, but it was only a pinprick of light to Aaron. The engines kicked in, and Aaron felt the tires start rolling. He watched as the men and machines around him blurred, until the dot of light grew and engulfed his plane.

* * *

"This is Bolt 1, I have a tally ho on the coastline."

Aaron was fast approaching the Usean continent, flying low over the ocean to avoid any passive radars. He shot over a beach, blowing sand up in a small flurry that covered a few nearby trees. His aircraft was at Mach 2 on supercruise to avoid IR detection and excess fuel consumption. "This was what the F-25B excels at, getting in fast, sticking around, kicking some ass," Aaron thought. He went over the plan again in his mind. Ingress. Destroy the winches. Suppress any AAA. Rendezvous with a tanker. Wait for the others and then obliterate the 'Sphynx.' Last, escape alive. What would that last part mean for them?

Aaron flew on, in almost complete radio silence. He would receive a transmission every so often from an AWACS every so often with a vector to go to. Just a '3-5-0,' or a '0-4-0,' and that was it. Otherwise, he was flying blind, unable to turn on his radar, and would be blind until he got there. The fuel left was dipping below half full; he probably wouldn't have much time to attack the winches.

"0-0-0, on sights," the AWACS's message ringing in. This meant he had arrived, and was to turn on his radar. Switching it on, Aaron found it bedecked with circles. He had been briefed that these were to designate the effective ranges of the alert radar sites, and knew he'd have to avoid them at all costs. Since he was flying just inches above the treetops, the sites' ranges would be functionally smaller. Overhead, Aaron suddenly realized, there were dark gray storm clouds gathering, fog was rolling in, and it had begun to rain. "In the desert," Aaron scoffed, "Even nature knows something big's gonna happen." The fog rolled on over his plane, swallowing it in a shroud of thick mist. "Great, just great, I can hardly see a thing," he grumbled, "I'm probably going to- huh!"

A blip had appeared on the radar and, simultaneously, a tremendous object materialized from the haze, dead ahead of Aaron's plane. He swerved to avoid a collision with it. Pulling up, he thankfully noted that there were no alert radar systems anywhere near the turret itself. "Poacher," he radioed to his AWACS for this flight, "You can call in the tanker, I'm gonna be noticed pretty soon, I'd say."

Aaron turned back towards the turret, scanning it, searching for the winches. The 'Sphynx' was massive, bigger even than a Stonehenge turret, though Thatcher had never seen one in real life. "Where are you…stupid winch…" Aaron muttered to himself, "Aha! At the foundation, duh!" Bolt 1 swung around and headed for the winch. "Pickle!" A bomb fell from the Syphoner's wing, detonating on the winch, scattering metal, heavy wires, and hydraulics all over the buildings below. A shrill alarm blared, and the turret started into motion.

"Crap, there they go, they're lowering it," Aaron said. He was concentrating on finding the next winch. "There! Pickle, pickle!" The second winch shattered, and Thatcher weaved around bits and parts of wire thicker than his plane. "Alright, it's descent speed is slowing down. I'll get 'em all at this rate."

The third winch came into sight and targeting range. "Dropping… third winch, destroyed!" Frantic calls began to flood the radio.

"The winches have been hit! We're losing power to protect the turret!" "Collapse! Collapse, the ceiling of building C3 has…" "Building E7 is on fire, no response from winch control room three!"

Aaron grinned. "Payback sucks, doesn't it guys?" he thought. Now he was reaching the final winch. "Heh, pickle!" The winch exploded, and Aaron flew over it and the 'Sphynx.' Unexpectedly, the turret sprang up, no longer tethered by its heavy wires. "Whoa! In the name of-!" Aaron had pitched up just in time to avoid getting smashed on the turret. "Son of a… I'll get you for that," he whispered to the compound angrily, "Uh…later though." There were a bunch of SAM sites and AA guns coming online and opening fire. "Ah gees, fireworks just for me, how nice," Aaron murmured as he dodged tracers and missiles. He glanced at his fuel gauge, and found it surprisingly low.

"Poacher, where's the tanker's current position?" "Six o'clock high, climb above the cloud level, one." "Wilco." He pulled back on the stick until inverted, then rolled upright. He then performed another Immelman and found himself behind a KC-135. Aaron hooked up and topped off, then escorted the tanker out of the immediate area. Now, he just had to wait.

* * *

The agonizing tranquility, the everlasting quiet, the deafening silence. Despite the cheering, the jet engines, the tanks; the Erusian Prime Minister heard none of it. He was still waiting for the phone to ring, concentrating on it. He was only disturbed by some of the Yellows who had broken off their formation before it even got started, and had flown off to the east. There were now no other planes in the sky either.

Suddenly, expectedly, the phone rang. The minister slowly picked it up, and put it to his ear, to hear the news.

* * *

Aaron started rolling, wasting time, waiting for the others. He had already destroyed some of the AAA around the turret with his Vulcan and had nothing else to do. Enemy radio chatter filtered in, they were broadcasting on an unsecured channel.

"No, the winches! They got the winches!" "The turret is in the open, we can't lower it!" "Try damn it, even if we don't know where they are!" The frantic messages were rather entertaining to Aaron, but the last one struck him to the bone. "Open fire! We have permission, _we have it_! Sweep away everything with the laser!"

The jaws of the 'Sphynx' opened, as it gathered enough energy for a strike. Everything around Aaron was suddenly calm, quiet, as if bracing itself against the coming onslaught. The jaws crunched together, and the laser sped out, piercing the clouds far to the left of where Aaron actually was. It began sweeping across the sky, until its power ran dry and the beam faded. A transmission came in, "No you didn't hit anything! Charge for the next strike already!" Aaron watched and laughed as the laser trailed off to the west, missing him completely. Without Sonnatrac, the 'Sphynx' instead _missed_ 98 of the time. And now…

"Hey, one! Still alive? Hope there's still something for us to do here!"

"Ericks. They're here," Aaron thought, then said, "I got a lion here that needs to stop roaring. It's not doing much else."

"Allllllright! Let's go get the bastards, guys!" The four other Bolt pilots formed up on Ericks and launched several of their bombs at once. Most slammed straight into the turret, breaking a great deal of its protective plating.

"Shit! What's going on up there! Where did those attacks come from!" "Shut your mouth and keep firing!" "What the hell is wrong with the AAA crews! Why can't they hit anything!"

The turret operators were quickly becoming more and more frantic; they guessed at several possible places an attack came from and swept the area, but never hit anything. The New ISAF pilots kept up their assault, and were dealing significant damage.

"Aww crap, man! I'm outta those bombs," Ericks called morosely over the radio.

"Does anyone have any left?" "Nope, I'm out." "Same here." "Yeah, winchester."

Aaron checked his own reserves. There was just three left. "I got three here, that's it though."

"Damn, that's just great. How many times did we hit that sucker? Can sure take a lot of punishment eh?"

Bolt 1 swung around towards the turret. He armed another bomb, and lined up on the jaws of the turret. "Dropping! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!"

The weapon streaked towards the 'Sphynx.' Aaron pulled up and watched it. There was a trail of light pouring from the 'Sphynx's jaws, and the bomb destroyed in the firing of the laser.

"Damn! It didn't hit! Trying for the next one…" Aaron released the bomb, and it impacted the side of the 'Sphynx,' only breaking off some more plating.

"Those things aren't doing enough damage. If eighteen bombs couldn't do it, I doubt your two can! So now what do we do man?" Ericks shouted over the radio.

"I don't know, how about you crash into it?" Aaron jokingly suggested. "I guess we'll have to-"

Thatcher's proposal was interrupted by the sudden appearance of floodlights far below, on the ground. Without radar, some Erusians were braving the storm to locate the planes visually.

"Aw crap, let's go guys, ascend!" Aaron warned the other pilots. The F-25s broke through the cloud level and debated what to do there.

"Suicide isn't the greatest idea I've heard," Bolt 3 piped up, "You could always try to get it into the jaws directly Thatcher."

"Brilliant! I'd pat you on the back Richardson, but that's a little hard to do in a jet, if you understand," Aaron thanked his wingman. Bolt 1 approached the turret as if prepared another laser strike. "Oh gees…" Aaron uttered, staring down the wide, gaping jaws of the beast. "Almost…right… now!"

The bomb flew off the plane's wing, and soared into the jaws. It too, was obliterated by the laser, which fired just before it detonated. "Damn… that was so close."

"Well…any more bright ideas?" Ericks asked sarcastically. "Actually, yeah. Two, go high above the turret and fire off your Vulcan, attract attention to yourself."

"Do _WHAT_, man! Are you kidding me!"

"Just do it."

Bolt 2 grumbled as he pitched up and sprayed tracers everywhere. Sure enough, the Erusians on the ground noticed. "Look, tracers! Up there! Fire the laser up there!" The 'Sphynx' slowly looked skywards, bending back at a perfect 90-degree angle. The jaws opened.

"Haha! Take this bastards!" Aaron was already putting his plan in action. He dived on the awaiting jaws and dropped the last bomb. It fell towards the turret as Thatcher pulled away. The five pilots watched with bated breath.

There was a small explosion on the inside of the turret's mouth. Then an earsplitting crack blew through the air. The 'Sphynx's jaws split in two, each part breaking away from the main turret itself. They impacted the ground with a resounding crash that thundered through the desert. The debris crushed some parts of the compound and everyone inside.

"Holy hell, what just hit us! Damage report!" "We've lost contact with building A7 and B3!" "The turret! Look at the turret!"

Most of the New ISAF pilots laughed at the frenzied voices from the facility. They knew that the 'Sphynx' would never fire again. Arcing slowly in the sky in triumph, the pilots watched as what was left of the turret imploded as the stored energy was ferociously released.

"Wooooohoooo!" "Yeah!" "We did it!" "How's that feel, bastards! Yeah!" "New ISAF! New ISAF!" "Bolt Squadron, Bolt Squadron!" "For the Seraph!"

Aaron couldn't help but laugh himself to tears. He and the others had taken down the feared Erusian weapon and now even the sun was peeking back out through the clouds! They had accomplished the mission, so the ISAF pilots prepared to return to the Gullfaxi for the big party, but…

"This is Yellow 6, the targets are dead ahead, all Aquila aircraft, engage."

* * *

The Prime Minister wiped the sweat from his forehead. Almost an hour had passed, and there was no news of the attack. The troops were still parading by, and the crowd knew nothing of his dilemma. At last, an aid came from behind him on the balcony and whispered into his ear.

"The Yellows and Angels are engaging the enemy. The turret… well, I'm sorry sir. The 'Sphynx' has been destroyed."

The Minister's vehement shouts could be heard from the street far below.

* * *

Aaron gave a start. Yellows. The same Yellows who had murdered his friends, his brothers in arms. The others, he could tell, were already raring to take them down, to kill them too. Thatcher had to advise his squad.

"Guys…listen, I know it's them…what you want to do…"

Ericks interrupted him, his voice erupting in ferocity. "Thatcher! They killed 'em! Every last one 'cept us! This is our chance, we have to pay back the favor!" Aaron sighed, and tried to calm his wingman.

"Ericks…James. We don't have the weaponry, fuel, or the numbers to do this…we have to get out of here, there'll be other times for this."

"So sorry to break up the mood, but I think there won't be a next time. Yellow 6, engage."

The Bolt pilots were shocked as no less than twenty-seven aircraft, Su-51s and F-18s, descended upon them. "Shit! The Angels are here too!" Bolt 4 yelled as he evaded the bandits' initial volley, "Poacher! We're gonna need some help here!" "Roger, the reinforcements are already en route. Hang in there!"

Aaron swerved past several Yellows attacking with guns. He barrel-rolled over a missile from another, then fired his own shot. "Damn! Angel 6 is down!" "Who cares! We already lost Yellows 2 and 10!" Thatcher smirked. "So I'm not the only one getting some kills, eh?" he thought. The tides were turning.

* * *

Angel 4 was trailing one of the bandits. Most of his wingmen were panicking, but he kept his cool. "Alright you ISAF lackey, let's see what you've got." As if on cue, the Syphoner broke hard left, trying to outturn his Hornet. Dalton clung to the jet's tail though, and followed the pilot through his maneuvers. Suddenly…

"Falcon 4 engage."

Rhodes was startled. Surely he hadn't heard that… A mocking voice came over the radio. "You really fell for that! Man… unbelievable!" Now four had a reason to be startled. That pilot's voice was familiar… He had to find the Syphoner again, it had disappeared. "Damn dark gray planes… nearly impossible to see," Rhodes cursed, ignoring the frantic radio chatter.

"Who are these guys? I can't hit 'em, can't even _see_ 'em!" "I've never met them before, and they're good!" "I can barely follow their movements, they're like shadows!"

Dalton only listened to one message, from the enemy he had been engaging. "Heh, we're the proud, brand-spanking new ISAF Bolt Squadron, here to kick ass and take names, man!" Now Rhodes knew. The flying style. The voices. For sure…

_Seraph._

* * *

"It's them! Seraph!" "Those guys are dead! We killed 'em!" "Th-then…they're ghosts!"

Slowly but surely, the other FEAF pilots recognized who they were up against. But it was impossible, they _were_ all dead. Yellow 6, pursuing the lead plane, couldn't care less. "Who cares if they're ghosts! We've killed them once before, we'll just do it again!" "This is Bolt 2, kindly requesting that Yellow 6 shut his ugly face, that is all…" "Don't tell me…! Ericks! That's you, isn't it! Answer me, damn it!"

Angel 4 scoffed at how easily Taylor was agitated. "Come on Zachary… show a little professionalism. Don't worry, I'll take care of the scary little ghost for you…" Once more ignoring the radio's chaos (and six's vehement rebukes), he lined up his gunsight on Ericks's F-25. Strangely, the pilot started laughing. Rhodes paid no attention.

"Falcon 4, engage."

Angel 4 was unshaken. It was just Ericks's stupid trick again. At least, that's what Rhodes thought, until a missile alert sounded in his cockpit.

"Wha-! Where'd…!" Before Dalton could find the F-16S on his tail, the missile from the craft collided with his Hornet and exploded. "Shit! I'll get you bastards for this!" he bellowed before punching out. The real Falcon 4 slid up next to Bolt 2.

"Hey James, thought you guys could use some help!" "'Bout time man! Hell yeah, we could sure use some help! Mop up these SOBs!" "Heh, roger!"

Aaron, as flight lead for the operation, directed the new arrivals. "Falcons, take on the Yellows. Pitch, the Angels. Bolt, egress, we're done here."

Ericks hotheadedly interrupted again, "Man! No way! I'm staying to kick some ass!" Aaron knew just what to say. "Ericks, do you have any missiles left?" "Uh… nope. No prob though, man! I'll just gun 'em down! Wait…you had me waste all my bullets drawing attention on purpose didn't you!"

Aaron laughed as his wingman cussed. "Fine…Bolt 2, disengaging. You coming man?" James asked Thatcher. Aaron replied, "Naw…I'm going after Taylor." "Say WHAT! Man, you only have one missile, _and_ he's the best in the FEAF! He'll eat you alive!" "Heh, probably! It was nice knowing you all!"

Aaron broke off from his squad and looked for the Yellow. "I can't let him stay airborne," Thatcher knew, "He's too dangerous to our pilots. If just one of them gets shot down… I can't let that happen." He found Yellow 6.

"Oh, what have we here?" the enemy ace scoffed at the lone F-25B approaching him, "Another foolish Seraph who didn't die in earlier May, but has come back just to die today… so, which one are you?"

"Aaron Thatcher. Seraph 8."

Taylor smiled. "Really? This must be some kind of honor… the very best Seraph pilot, one-on-one! You know, Jones… (The Yellow's voice lowered) he told me you were the best, better even than him…better than me! That was before I killed him, of course."

"So let me show you how good I am by killing you." Aaron pulled onto the Night Raven's six. The Su-51 was maneuvering perfectly, breaking his lock-on, performing moves Aaron knew were beyond the physical limits of the plane. Yellow 6 quickly lost Bolt 1. "Crap!" Thatcher muttered as his Syphoner was again beaten by the Sukhoi's brilliant mobility, "What _was_ I thinking? One missile'll never get this guy…"

Suddenly, the Yellow looped and Aaron overshot. "Well, bye-bye Seraph… fox 1!" "Aw sh-!" Aaron yanked the controls back, pitching up slowly to seventy degrees, then opened the throttle to full. His Syphoner zoomed into the sky, climbing higher and higher. The missile fell behind and lost track.

"Hmm…nice, nice, well done Seraph. You'll live for a few more seconds." Now the Yellow had Bolt 1 in his sights again. "Guns." Bullets tore through the Syphoner's rear fins. Aaron lost rudder control. Now the Yellow was backing off, preparing a missile shot.

"Well shit. I gotta get him off my tail… here goes nothing," Aaron planned. He cut the throttle back and deployed his plane's air brake. Taylor pulled into a Cobra and yaw-turned to the side with his Raven's thrust vectoring to avoid a collision with Thatcher. Both jinked immediately to get on the other's tail, and they turned right into each other's paths. Instinctively, Aaron fired his last missile, and it rammed right through the Yellow's Night Raven. As he passed the jet, Aaron saw Yellow 6 bail out. The Su-51, its wing sheared off, broke apart and fell to the earth. Aaron realized he was sweating, and wiped his brow.

"Well, mission accomplished…I'm outta here." He broke off, laughing at Taylor's little white parachute far below him…

* * *

Thatcher rejoined his squad as they egressed. The Falcon and Pitch flights soon followed. Ericks was surprised to see that Aaron had returned. "Whoa… did you get him man!" "Huh? Oh… yeah, splash one Yellow 6!" "Sierra hotel! You _ARE_ the best, Thatcher!" Ericks congratulated him. Aaron chuckled to himself, and started to hum a song – the Usean anthem. James overheard and broke in one last time.

"Hey man! Don't just hum it, let's sing it! C'mon… O'er azure skies and emerald plains…"

The hymn grew louder and stronger as more pilots joined in.

"…where freedom and justice prevail…"

Soon it had erupted into a full-blown chorus.

"…with courage and strength we'll fight to the end…"

The pilots sang all the way back to the Gullfaxi and awaiting celebration.

"…for liberty in our land!" "Yeah! Again! Again! O'er azure skies…"

And little did they know, people around the world sang with them.


	18. Chapter 18: Angels and Demons

* * *

"And when the…seal was broken…I saw a pale horse, and its rider's name was Death. And there followed after him another horse whose rider's name was Hell. They were given control of one-fourth of the earth, to kill with war…" – Revelation, Ch. 6: 7-9

* * *

"Sir, dey're here. Deh…Blue Angels? Ja…dey've just touched down."

Edelmann smirked. It was May 29, and the Belkan Air Force had been preparing for this day, the initiation of _Bedienung Dämonen Jagen_, Operation Demon Hunting. The Erusian Blue Angel Squadron had just arrived to lead the attack on the Razgriz.

"So, vat squads vill participate in deh attack?"

"Vell, besides deh Blue Angels, vee vill have Sven's und Richter's squadrons up to assist, if necessary…"

Edelmann's officer's expression was grim; he knew those squads would be necessary, even essential, to the mission's success.

* * *

"Dis is Major Richter, come in."

"Fels 2, taxiing for takeoff." "Fels 3 on standby." "Fels 4 through 10 on standby."

Richter listened as his squad sounded off. His and his friend Sven's squads were operating from a base in South Belka, preparing to take off for an attack on the Razgriz's home base. As there were still resisting forces in Osea, it was not safe for the men to depart from a forward air base, and so they were here. Richter called Sven's flight.

"Stein 1, is everyding go?"

"Roger Fels 1, ve'll take off und meet up vith deh Angels, over."

There were twenty Belkan aircraft in all; some Su-47s, some YF-23s, but mostly BF-9 Blizzards. They were to rendezvous with the Blue Angels over the Bannion Sea, then proceed to raid the Sand Island Airbase. It had been confirmed that the Razgriz were operating from there.

"All right, let's go!"

* * *

"Negative, Angel 4, break off and try again."

Disgruntled, Rhodes left his flight path and relined-up behind the tanker. His concentration was faltering, as he had been quite perturbed ever since he was shot down by several surviving Seraph over the 'Sphynx.' The death of Angel 7 and his squad's seemingly endless travel also pressured his thoughts. He didn't want to be in Osea. He wanted to be in Yuktobania. He wanted to find the Seraph and that Falcon pilot. He wanted to kill them.

Four finally refueled successfully after three more attempts, and rejoined his now only thirteen-plane squad. The Belkan aircraft, having arrived over the inland sea, now took their turns topping off, and then the thirty-three planes set off for Sand Island.

* * *

"All right. From Skully to Fort Grey to Newfield."

"No, we'd be too close to the mainland by that route. We should go directly for North Point first."

"Huh. We need forward bases for invading North Point. That's where Fort Grey comes in."

The men in the New ISAF conference were debating the best way to invade and capture the Usean islands off the east coast. North Point's liberation was the next step in defeating the Erusian occupation.

"The first stage of this operation should not be North Point or Newfield, they are our main goals. Instead, we should focus more on the southern islands," Mattock explained to his consultants quietly.

The Osean lead general had been paying little attention; he was busy with the plan of the liberation of Osea. Now he spoke up. "Then you mean the Comona Island Chain. Why not start there? Proceed right up the coastline from there," he said without even turning to look at Mattock or the others.

Those other men murmured in agreement. They got into the details and finally emerged with a strategy: a special task force would attack and take the Comona Islands, then the Fort Grey Islands, next, Newfield Island, and lastly, prepare airfields and forward commands for the North Point assault. It was a hastily thrown together plot, but if it all went off without a hitch, Operation 'Pay Day' would be the ISAF's second greatest accomplishment in the war.

* * *

"Dis is Fels 1, vee are approaching deh target, four bandits are airborne."

"Roger Fels 1. Angels, we'll engage first, the others will cover us."

Rhodes couldn't believe his ears. Had his squad lead really said that they were going to attack four of the most lethal, feared, demonic pilots alone! The F-25Bs had taken off, and were coming head on. "Die or die time," he thought, "I guess there is no do."

"Angel 1 engage." "Angel 2, engage!" "Angel 3, engaging!" "Huh… you idiots," four uttered under his breath, "Angel 4…engaging."

The opposing planes streaked towards each other and merged, as the Belkans observed from a distance. Dalton chased down the lead Razgriz, as did his flight lead and several others. The Syphoner was maneuvering excellently; Rhodes knew that a veteran ace was in the ejector seat. His Killer Hornet groaned under the G-stressing moves four followed the Razgriz through. "I can't get a lock on this guy!" Dalton thought furiously, "Why aren't those Belkans helping!" He glanced at the nearest Belkan craft, which was turning a slow arc around the fray. Turning back to the bandit, Rhodes gave a shout of surprise. Angel 1 had appeared from below four; Dalton therefore flew right through his jet wash.

"Agh! You bastard, watch it!" Rhodes growled through gritted teeth, struggling to steady the shaking stick and throttle. The aircraft's brilliant thrust vectoring regained control momentarily.

Fels 1 watched on as the Angels fought the Demons. The Belkans themselves hadn't fired a single shot yet, but the Angels were bleeding their ammo stores dry. The Razgriz had dodged missile after missile, and had only taken careful, conservative attacks. Five of the Angels were already down, leaving just eight.

"Angel 4, fox 2! Come on… damn!"

Dalton twisted around his wingmen as he chased another Razgriz. "Dammit one! Get those Belkans in this! We can't win like this!"

"Four, just calm down, focus… try and get the Razgriz into the Belkans' sights."

"I'll get _you_ in my sights in a second…" Rhodes muttered. He tried to force a Razgriz into such a trap, but the F-25B simply sent several projectiles the Belkans' way and escaped.

"Dammit!" Four cursed at the flaming Belkan wreckages, "This is useless!"

Dalton broke off his attack, disengaging.

"Angel 4, where are you going! Reengage!"

He ignored the AWACS and headed towards base. He wouldn't take place in a battle as hopeless and pointless as that, no matter the consequences. Growing tired of the yells and screams of his floundering and retreating allies, Rhodes shut off the radio.

* * *

"Sir."

"Lieutenant Rogers, good to see you. How's your wife?"

"She 's fine sir," the ISAF official replied, "The report on the mobilization."

"Ah, right to business, always the same, eh Rogers? So how goes it? Navy?"

"On schedule, we got landing boats, destroyers, cruisers, submarines, and a few carriers," Rogers informed his superior.

"Air forces?"

"Ready to be deployed. Bolt and Falcon Squads are on the Gullfaxi, and the Pitch and Mobius Squads are on the Deinfaxi, which has temporarily been recalled from Operation Sphinx."

"Excellent, they will be a big help. Special forces and army?"

"Sir, they're _always_ ready," the officer laughed. ISAF preparations for Operation Pay Day were, in all, underway and even ahead of schedule. The date for the invasion of the mainland was July, and they had to meet that deadline by capturing all of the targeted islands by that month.

"Sir, in all honesty, now that the 'Sphynx' is gone, I think we'll roll right on over those fascists! Those Bolt pilots, amazing! Destroyed the 'Sphynx' just like that! And fended off so many enemy planes afterwards too! Did you hear?"

"Haha, yes I heard. But remember, the Falcon and Pitch pilots were there too, don't forget."

"Oh, really? That's not what I heard."

"Well, be sure to spread the word, make sure all of our heroes get the proper recognition. I'm going to go report our progress to the higher-ups, see ya Rogers."

"Sir." Rogers saluted and left after his friend, to tell a different rumor about the events concerning the XAM-001A's destruction.

* * *

"First Lieutenant Dalton Rhodes, I hope you know you'll be court-martialed for this."

Rhodes just laughed in the general's face. "Yeah, you do that, see what I care. If those idiots are gonna just stick around and be shot down, they don't deserve my help or protection!" he sneered at the man.

"Well, they aren't going to have your help, as of now you're grounded."

"Lovely." Dalton left smirking, ignoring the base commander's threats and shouts; he truly didn't care. As he passed by an open door in the hall, he heard familiar voices inside the room. His flight lead was assuring some Belkan officials all would be well.

"No, no…he's grounded, four won't cause any trouble…"

Rhodes almost walked away, but overheard Angel 1's next comment, "It was my choice to ground him naturally…he needs patience." Instead, four waited to hear what else his lead had to say.

"So Erusian, vhy aren't you attacking deh Razgriz now?"

"Sirs, my plan calls for only attacking every once in awhile. Constant attacks will wear out our own pilots as well as the enemy. Rather, we will lure the Razgriz into thinking that our forces are weakening their attack strength, then we will strike with overwhelming force!"

Dalton scoffed, and finally walked away. He knew that such a plan would never succeed under that man's command.

* * *

On Sand Island, Blaze was strolling on the beach, listening to the waves roll in and out. "They don't stop, the ocean stretches on and on forever. The Belkans, too, they will never stop attacking us," he whispered to the wind. "Sheesh… I'm starting to sound like Snow," Blaze chuckled to himself. Looking up, he noticed several dots on the horizon, growing bigger by the minute. They were C-1s, Osean transport craft, coming in on the runway. The drone of their engines ceased as the planes halted on the tarmac after landing. Several Yuke and Osean men jumped out and began unloading armament and supplies for the F-25B Syphoners and their pilots. This little airlift was the lifeline of the Razgriz, as well as that of Osea. If it faltered, so would the Razgriz, whose faltering would in turn cause the downfall of the scattered, weak resistances still clinging on in Osea. Blaze watched as Snow himself met the men near the hangars and directed their efforts. An officer approached Blaze and saluted.

"Sir. I bring your current sitrep. The resistance your squadron has put up so far has delayed the complete occupation of the West Bannion Continent. A handful of Osean forces are still fighting, inspired by your example. The Osean Commander in Yuktobania requests that you hold on just a little while longer, the liberation of Osea draws near."

He saluted again and ran off to aid the unloading of supplies. Blaze meandered on down the beach, watching the stars in the evening dusk, enjoying them while the peace lasted.

* * *

Dalton watched as only twenty aircraft took off for an assault against the Razgriz, down from the original thirty-three. He was grounded, and most of the pilots downed the previous day had not yet been returned to the base. Some Angels had no planes to fly, and were temporarily grounded as well. They were chatting amongst themselves in the crew room, but four was sitting alone. He had been contemplating his next action, and he reached a decision. Rising, he strided over to his wingmen and began to question their ideals about their squad's leader, Karl Douglas.

* * *

"Heh, here they come again!"

"Concentrate Archer, there might be more of them around," Blaze warned his wingman. The four Razgriz were surprised by the smaller number of attacking planes, only half of which were Belkan.

"Be careful guys, I don't know what to think about this. Blaze, engage."

"Edge, roger. Engage." "Archer, engaging!" "Swordsman engaging."

"Let's go Angels, engage from below; Fels, go high; Stein, cover us," Angel 1 directed the squads. The eight Angels dove, and the six Fels climbed to angels 10. In response, the Razgriz too split; Blaze pursued the Fels Squad, leaving the Angels to his wingmen.

"Fels 6, bandit on your tail!" "I can't shake him! Augh!"

Six's BF-9 exploded with the missile impact. "Blaze here, splash one." He jinked left after a YF-23. The plane couldn't outmaneuver the Syphoner, and Blaze just sat easily on the jet's tail. "Dis is Stein 3, someone get him off of me!" Another Belkan aircraft slided onto Blaze's six, but Blaze himself did not react. He waited, patiently expecting the flailing Belkan in front to make a mistake that he could exploit. In a few seconds he would have a good tone; a few seconds and the trailing Belkan would get a lock on him; a few more seconds…

* * *

A thunderous crash resounded through the base. Angel 11 had just been sent into a projection screen by Angel 4. Both the screen and the Angel toppled to the ground.

"What in God's name are you doing Rhodes!" Dalton hadn't appreciated his wingman's pledged loyalty and faith in Angel 1, and so sent the pilot careening into the display. Several officers in the room grabbed four and threw him to the floor.

"What is it you want!" a lieutenant spat in his face, "To be tried for treason! Executed maybe!" The man's grip loosened briefly as he tried to strengthen his hold on Rhodes. In a split second Dalton drew his 9mm and pointed it at the officials. The officer holding him down let go, and four stood up and said, "Control. Of my squad, that's it. Go. Load up my plane with as much fuel and air to air weaponry as possible. Make sure there are some heat-seekers too. So go, before I start shooting somebody!"

The men hesitated, staring around the room at gaping mouths and wide eyes, then back at Rhodes and the barrel of his pistol. Slowly, a crewman turned and ran to the flight line. The others quickly followed.

"That's more like it," Rhodes sneered, then strutted down the hall at a distance. He turned the corner and found himself almost face to face with another official. He aimed the gun between the man's eyes, a tough order, the officer – a Colonel by rank – was over six feet tall, compared to Dalton at 5'5".

"Can I help you…sir?" Dalton asked sarcastically. In a flash, the Colonel grasped Rhodes's gun, jerked it out of his hand, chucked it away, and last delivered several crippling blows to four's chest. He laughed as Dalton crumpled to his knees, a cruel, evil, merciless laugh, one that chilled even Rhodes to the bone. When he spoke, his voice was crisp, cold, mirthless.

"From Commander of the Air Force General Viktor Sturmoff to Lieutenant Dalton Rhodes. Your request for control of the Blue Angel Squadron has been denied. However, your plane has indeed been prepared, and you are to assist your wingmen in the recent sortie immediately."

He winked, tipped his hat, and left the pilot in bewilderment.

* * *

"Mikhail. Ivan Mikhail."

Rhodes racked his brain, thinking about the Colonel who had given him permission to be sitting where he was now, in his Hornet's cockpit. The name he had read on the official's nametag was definitely Erusian in origin, yet Dalton had never known nor heard of a Mikhail in the Airforce, least of all a Colonel. "An Erusian Colonel in Osea for the sole purpose of giving me a message? Not to mention an answer to something that I'd _just_ said aloud for the first time," Dalton pondered, then shook his head. It was all very confusing, but he'd have to force the man's haunting voice out of his mind, if he wanted to concentrate on his upcoming second battle with the Razgriz…and Douglas.

* * *

"Stein 8, get outta there!" The Angel lead watched as a Razgriz preyed on the green Belkan pilot. There were less Belkans than Angels now, and there were only six Angels left.

"Shit! All units, that's it, retreat! Pull back!" Karl disengaged, turning to flee with his remaining men. Suddenly a firm, cold voice cut through the disarray on the radio.

"Attention all planes. Reengage at once."

"That voice sounds somewhat familiar," Douglas thought, then demanded, "Who are you? Identify yourself!"

"You know me. Blue. Angel…4?"

Angel 1 was shocked. Four was grounded, why, _how_ could he be here? In his panic, the lead never noticed the heat-seeking missile homing in on his afterburners' exhaust until it was too late. He jerked the stick back, flinging the Hornet into a kulbit. The missile unfortunately slammed into the jet as it was only halfway around, in the cockpit. Rhodes watched triumphantly as the blue aircraft with the large, yellow number one imploded, taking its pilot with it.

"All right! Listen up idiots! The Blue Angel Squad is now under the sole control of Captain Dalton Rhodes! As for your first order, attack! Focus on one demon at a time!"

The Belkans rejoined the fray at once, but the other Angels were hesitant. Should they do as he said? Rhodes had just killed one of their own… would he be willing to do it again? There was no way for the Angels to defend themselves, they had no heat-seekers left themselves to possibly overthrow Dalton with, and therefore no choice. However reluctantly, the Angels formed on their new leader.

* * *

"Huh. Looks like they're coming back! They just don't give up, do they?"

"I guess not. Grimm, you and Snow finish off the Belkans, me and Nagase'll handle the Angels this time."

They split again, Blaze keeping an eye on his missile and fuel reserves. He'd have to finish this soon, he was running out of both. Now Blaze noticed the bandits were trying something new: ignoring Nagase, all the Angels ganged up on him. He fired a missile at the lead Hornet, but he barrel-rolled over it and threw off the lock. Seconds later the pilot sent a projectile Blaze's way.

"Argh, well, aren't we a good little ace?" Blaze grunted as he jinked away from the Sidewinder. Finally, it drained its fuel and fell harmlessly out of the air. "Phew! That was a close one. Whoa!" An Angel shot past, gun ablaze, nearly hitting the Syphoner's cockpit. Blaze realized the Angels had him and Nagase completely surrounded. Now that Angel was on his tail.

"Oh gees!" Blaze exclaimed as a hail of AMRAAMs came his way from the solitary Angel. The bandit throttled up, closing for gun range as Blaze twisted around the missiles. One detonated just feet off the F-25, heavily damaging the right wing. "Damn, I'm hit! Nagase, take over for me!" Blaze ordered, struggling with the plane's failing controls. Parts of the flaps and hydraulics were ripped from their places on the wingspan. Now the Angel opened fire with his Vulcan. Fortunately for Blaze, his craft started into a wild roll due to the loss in wing area. The bullets missed, but now Blaze was going down. The radio chatter, Nagase's cries of terror, the engine noise…it all blended into one sound, Blaze's own voice mentally reading the altimeter.

Eight thousand feet…seven thousand…six…five…four…

* * *

"Three, two, one…scanning now."

An Osean SI-96 streaked over the Comona Islands. The ISAF invasion fleet was mere nautical miles away, perched on its haunches, waiting to strike. The Sierra was conducting badly needed reconnaissance on the Comona Rocket Base.

"It looks like they got their own fleet gathering now, there's a carrier, two destroyers, and… oh gees, they've got a battleship! I think that's all they have right now, perhaps we should begin immediately?"

"Roger that Alter 1. RTB, we'll take them on." The commodore of the ISAF fleet broadcasted to the other vessels, "Taskforce Greenback, set a course for the Comona Island Chain, full speed ahead."

A flight of F-16s launched from a nearby carrier. "The strike flight is off from the Deinfaxi and Gullfaxi. Good luck pilots."

* * *

Nine hundred feet…eight hundred…seven hundred…

Blaze was suddenly aware. He eased the throttle back, and jerked the stick towards him. The Syphoner gracefully pitched up, away from the fast approaching ocean, as if there was no crippling damage. "I can still fly…I can still fight," Blaze called to reassure Kei. An icy voice countered, "Not for long, demon."

The Angel was again at Blaze's six o'clock. "Fox 2." Blaze knew it was over, his jet had already reverted to an uncontrollable mess. Quite surprisingly, the Angel's missile overshot, exploding far from the target. "Wha-?" Blaze looked back at the Angel, who seemed just as dumbfounded as he did. A quick glance at the radar and it all made sense.

"Maelstrom flight, our Razgriz friends need some help, turn on your ECM pods, engage! Engage!"

A hail of Phoenix long-range missiles downed the few leftover Belkan aircraft. Eight F-14s appeared on the horizon.

"Tomcats!" the one Angel snarled, "Where'd these come from!" The Maelstrom flight lead coughed, drawing attention to himself, and replied, "_Sabre_cats, Erusian. An upgrade. We came from Yuktobania on the proud Osean carrier _Lethe_, to prepare our homeland for liberation!" The F-14X formation bore down upon the Angels. The Hornets themselves scattered, rendered practically defenseless.

Angel 4 found that his squad had become outnumbered two to one. A message radioed in unexpectedly too. "Angels, this is AWACS, operation is aborted, operation is aborted! Retrograde immediately, you are needed elsewhere!" Dalton swore, and broke off the Razgriz's tail. "Damn it… we have no choice, all Angels, fall back…"

"Haha! Run you cowards! A Cat will always best a Bug!" the Maelstrom flight lead jeered triumphantly. He and several others formed on Blaze's wing (as the other F-14s chased the Angels away) and guided him to a safe landing at Sand Island. Blaze noticed one seemed to be buffeting in the wind, and so did the lead. "Storm 8, you're stumbling around like you're blind over there!" Storm 8, a timid-sounding, seemingly young boy spoke up apologetically, "S-sorry sir." Once they had landed, Blaze leapt out of his cockpit and ran to thank the other Osean pilots. The lead, a gruff, rough man, held up his hand to stop Blaze from doing so.

"There's no need to thank me, or my squad, that's what we're here for! Our mission was to help you guys." The man got a good look at Blaze's Syphoner, which was mostly covered by billowing smoke. "Shee-at! Wow, that thing'll never fly again! It's a good thing we're staying with you guys." He turned to Blaze and began the introductions. "I'm Major Anthony Radcliff, Storm 1. This is Wilson Moore, Storm 5… that's Storm 3, Stephanie Banks… and _that's_ Alaeith Metzger, Mr. Wobbly." He pointed to the last pilot to have landed, and he indeed was young, no older than twenty at most.

The boy interjected, "Sir! I just joined two weeks ago!" "Heh! Yeah, he's our newest member, Storm 8," Radcliff scoffed at Alaeith. "Why… today was your fifth kill, right Metzger? Good job, for a nugget! Heh heh, it's like he was born to get those Belkan bastards! Shot himself three in one sortie during the withdrawal from Osea, if I remember right…" Alaeith blushed furiously red, and could only mumble some words of thanks. Blaze knew the boy probably felt embarrassed by his lead in the presence of a Razgriz, whose kill count he knew far outstripped his own.

Anthony gazed at his wingmen now patrolling above, then suddenly extended his hand to Blaze. As Blaze shook it, Radcliff said, "The Belkans won't be back for awhile. The Usean and Osean invasions have begun. The cards are stacked, it's time for the fall."


	19. Chapter 19: Shattered Wings

Author's Notice: Same chapter, just forgot to edit some things.

* * *

"Then war broke out in heaven…angels battled against the dragon. The dragon and its angels fought back, but they did not prevail and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. The huge dragon…who is called the Devil…was thrown down to the earth, and its angels were thrown down with it." – Revelation, Ch. 12: 7-10

* * *

The alert sounded, that shrill scream drilling into my ears. There was an attack, somewhere. We rush to the briefing room, where the brass are waiting for us.

"Pilots, we're under attack, so I'll be brief. This attack is why you men have been temporarily stationed here."

We were at our base in southwestern Usea, Nemitas Air Base, preparing to defend against any threat that came near that part of the continent.

"Simply, the Comona and Fort Grey Islands are under siege by the enemy. There is a taskforce of about fifteen or so ships. All we have in the region are a few destroyers, frigates, and a battleship. You guys will have to provide air support over Comona. Destroy also any hostile vessels you come across. Any questions?"

I raised my hand. "Sir, what about Fort Grey?"

"The White and Blue Squads will take care of the enemy there. Any others? Okay… dismissed!"

I chase after my squad as we race out to the flight line. I hurriedly salute the mechanics and others and shove on my helmet. I close the canopy and start up the engines. Now we're taxiing out…

"This is ATC, you are all cleared for takeoff."

"Roger ATC. Red Devil 1, accelerating." I push the throttle forward and lift into the sky…

* * *

"We've just landed, go, go, go!"

Falcon 4 watched from above as ISAF landing crafts from the landing ship _Sustento_ hit the sandy Comona beaches. The islands were poorly defended; the largest force in the chain was a small garrison of about twenty tanks holding some facilities.

"This is General Dollar," the commander of the ISAF forces gave his callsign, "Attention overhead aircraft, destroy that tank column on our flank, they're causing heavy casualties down here!"

Marshall rolled and dived on those vehicles. He fired several Maverick air-to-ground missiles at them, hitting three directly. Several others were damaged by the explosions, and their operators fled out of them.

"Sierra hotel! Nice shot four." Brian smiled, and said, "Thanks Ericks."

The Bolt Squadron was flying high over the battlefield, holding air superiority. The only enemy air power was a few attack helicopters. Bolt 5 quickly swept these up with gun fire.

"That's all for any bandits," Aaron confirmed, "AWACS Mint, are you picking up anything? Reinforcements perhaps?"

"Nothing at all, one. They definitely know we're here by now, so keep your eyes open just in case."

Ericks broke formation and began to roll carelessly about the sky. "This is enough to make me yawn, man…" The five Syphoners were equipped with only air-to-air weaponry, and so couldn't take part in the slaughter on the ground. Daniel sighed. "We may as well go back to the _Gullfaxi_, there's nothing left around here for us to do." Thatcher opened his mouth to give his wingmen to egress but something caught his eye.

"Uh… Mint, are you sure we don't got any company?" "Mint here, radar is still clean." Bolt 1 stared at his own radar screen intensely. He was sure he had seen something, if only for a brief second.

"Bolt Squad, I think there's something out there… let's go check it out. Follow me."

The five Syphoners split from the Falcons and turned towards the west.

* * *

"Sir. We have a new report. It seems that the ISAF are coming back."

The Erusian Prime Minister swiveled his chair around and glared at the man who had just entered. "What is it this time?"

"Well, they're launched an invasion of the eastern most islands of the continent, sir. A fleet of around fifteen, they say. The pilots that destroyed the 'Sphynx' and escaped are there too, sir."

The Prime Minister laughed. "Oh really! That's wonderful news… who's fighting them now?"

"The Red Devils are approaching Comona, the White and Blue are going for Fort Grey, sir."

The leader laughed again. He told his officer with a smirk, "You need not worry. We've got the _Nazianz_ down there. It'll take care of things. You are dismissed."

"Sir." The official saluted. As he turned to leave, the Minister called, "Oh and just one thing… stop calling me sir so damn much…"

"Yes sir."

* * *

"Admiral, you should see this!"

The captain of the ISAF flagship _Hyperion_ hustled over to the Major and snatched the picture he held in his hand.

"What is this… an SI-96 scan? Do we have those planes everywhere or something?" he chuckled. The Major's expression was stern however, and the Admiral took a closer look.

"Say… my God! Is that…"

"We think it is sir. It's coming right for us."

"A Tanager-class battleship here! We can't deal with that kind of firepower! Which one is it?"

"Well, it's not the _Hypatia_. No giant turret there, on the aft of the ship. Not the _Tanager II_ either, that ship only has one turret on the stern. Therefore it's either the _Orkan_ or the _Nazianz_. No matter which, this is very bad news," the Major explained.

The Tanager-class battleships were Erusea's newest warships, named after the proud Tanager battleship of the Aegir Fleet. Construction on each had only recently been completed, but those vessels made an immediate impact. Over three dozen vessels were reported to have been lost to their most terrible firepower. Their turrets held three eighteen-inch guns each, and the _Hypatia_ was rumored to be equipped with a rail gun.

"Well, at least it's not the _Hypatia_. What do you think we should do? We're gonna have to sink it, but we'll take a lot of casualties… When will it get within range of us?"

"ETA ten minutes."

"Only! We must hurry… are we in range of the _Gullfaxi_'s or _Deinfaxi_'s burst missiles? Could it be possible to use those?"

"All burst missiles have been removed from the carriers so they can carry extra planes and supplies for their squadrons!"

"Then we have no choice! Alert the men to battle stations immediately!"

* * *

"Incoming, Red Devils. Be on alert. Looks like five F-25s."

Victor Grant thanked the AWACS. His squad was just minutes away from Comona Rocket Base.

"Devil 1 to all planes," he spoke, "The enemy is dead ahead. You heard AWACS, it's them, the Bolt Squad, the ones we've heard about. And you can guess that our old nemesis, the Falcon and Pitch Squads, are there too. So listen up. These guys are good, very good, at what they do. Chances are that if we fly the way we do now we'll get picked off faster than a plane by the 'Sphynx.' We've held back for too long… give 'em all you got. Let's show 'em why the Red Devils should be feared!"

Grant's wingmen were shocked. They remembered back when the war first began, when the Seraph became notorious, what their lead had said:

_"There's something on my mind… The brass isn't too happy with the Seraph Squadron anymore. Listen, I want all you guys to do something for me, fly well enough to survive, but never under any circumstances fly as best as you can…Trust me, it's just this weird feeling I've got…"_

It had seemed as if Victor's prediction had come true when the Seraph fell out of favor with the Erusian High Command and were killed. The Devil pilots didn't know why Grant would suddenly allow them to fly at their limits, but they weren't going to question him.

"Alright… at last huh? Let's get 'em! Devil 2, engage!" "Yeah! Devil 3 engaging!" "Red Devil 4, engaged!"

Grant smiled. He said softly, "Red Devil 1, engage… for real…"

* * *

"Ugh… Thatcher, there's nothing out here, can we get going now?"

"Shut up Ericks, just give me some more time! And you probably aren't even looking!"

"Looking for what man… there isn't anything out here…" James yawned in response. Aaron ignored him and continued to search for what had caused that radar blip.

"Bolt 1, this is Bolt 3, I've got something, looks like fighters, directly above us!"

Aaron jerked his head up and looked. Sure enough, a formation of F-22s was bearing down upon them.

"Agh! Evasive maneuvers!"

Eleven Raptors merged with the Syphoners, firing missiles and bullets every which way. Aaron had three on his tail, and the rest of his squad, two. He heard Ericks shout, "Haha! Well if it ain't the Red Devils! This just got more interesting!"

Aaron arced around several of the black blurs. The Devils dived far below his squad, and then pulled back up to make an attack. Bolt 1 realized he had at least two Raptors directly below him, firing. He pushed the throttle forward and dived as well, zooming past the F-22s. A third bandit appeared on his tail, and opened up with Vulcan fire. Aaron rolled, evading the bullets, and making the Devil overshoot.

"Alright! I've got you, fox 2!"

The missile trailed after the Raptor, but the Devil broke hard left and it missed. Now the two other Devils had returned, and were at Thatcher's six. "Oh crap… this situation seems familiar somehow." He turned left after the third F-22, and the bandits on his tail did too. Several missiles flashed by as he turned, but none connected. The lead Raptor came into view on his HUD.

"Guns!" "Devil 1, break right!"

It was too late; the lead pilot took several hits to his wing. "Yes! Take that Grant!" Aaron shouted, not remembering that he wasn't supposed to know this enemy pilot. Victor climbed, and called over the radio to Thatcher, "Hey… ISAF pilot. Who are you really? You seem to know me… and you fight like a dead man I knew once."

Aaron laughed and replied, "Just call me Ramiel. I'm Bolt 1." He pulled a sudden Hook turn and lost the trailing Raptors. There was less of a doubt in Grant's mind now. Perhaps… was this ISAF pilot really as Taylor said he was?

"Fox 1!"

"Augh! Devil 1, evading!" The Bolt's missile brought the Devil lead back to his senses. It didn't matter who it was. Those five were going to die by his hand anyway.

* * *

"There they are! All turrets, aim for the _Nazianz_!"

"Admiral, the enemy battleship is leading, coming straight for the fleet! Escorted by several destroyers and frigates!"

"Order the landing ships to head away from the battle."

"Roger! _Clientela_, _Confestim_, _Capessa_, heading 2-0-0! _Larentia_, 0-9-0!"

The crews of the ISAF vessels were in a panic. The massive Tanager-class _Nazianz_ was bearing down upon their ships.

"This is the battleship flagship _Hyperion_, changing heading to go around the _Nazianz_ and attack supporting vessels!"

The Admiral watched as the relatively small dot that was the _Nazianz_ disappeared from his view on the bridge of the ISAF battleship and flagship as his own vessel turned away from the threat. He could see other dots on the horizon now.

"Erusian frigates, _Alacer _and _Tonitra_, lie in our path. We'll take them on." The buzzing voices around the Admiral were interrupted by one from an allied ship.

"This is the captain of the destroyer _Siderus_. We are engaging the _Nazianz_!"

A sound like thunder cracked the crisp sea air. To their right, the crew onboard the _Hyperion_ could see that the _Nazianz_ had fired first. The _Siderus_ exploded in a mass of flame.

"No! Direct hit on the _Siderus_! It's going down! Damn!" "Holy… just one round of firing! Those bastards are lethal!"

The Admiral could only watch as the _Siderus_ disappeared beneath the waves. The _Nazianz_ moved on to its next prey, the battleship _Turpitz_. This time the ISAF ship fired first, but each shell landed far from the enemy warship. The _Nazianz_ launched another volley, and successfully hit the bow of the _Turpitz_.

"Shit! We're taking on a lot of water! Damn those Erusian fascists!"

The Admiral now returned his attention to the vessels his own ship was attacking. The Erusian _Tonitra _was on his craft's left; the _Alacer_ had sailed to the right. They fired at the _Hyperion_, yet both missed luckily. Each of the ISAF flagship's turrets chose a target and returned fire. A shell smashed through the _Alacer_'s bridge and stern, immobilizing it.

"Yes! Direct hit! All aim for the _Tonitra_!" The other Erusian frigate tried again, and this time found its bulls-eye. The shell exploded just off the _Hyperion_'s stern, damaging its rudder.

"Oh shit! We're hit sir! Losing control of the ship!" The Admiral ignored him. Another message had come in, from the _Turpitz_.

"Oh hell, the _Redigo_'s going down! The _Nazianz_ got the _Redigo_!" The ISAF Admiral knew that both his ship and the _Turpitz_ were sitting ducks. The _Redigo _and _Temeritas_ were attempting to aid the flailing _Turpitz_. The _Hyperion_'s 15-inch guns opened fire again, obliterating the side of the _Tonitra_. The enemy warship capsized and sank within minutes.

"Alright, we got 'em! Man, this is a fast fight we've got here."

The Admiral knew that it was indeed. Another mayday call fell upon his already wearied ears. "This is the _Temeritas_, we can't hold it together, I'm sorry, abandoning ship!" Not more than twenty minutes had passed, and yet the _Nazianz_ had sent three of his ships to a watery grave single-handedly.

"Turn this ship. Let's converge on the _Nazianz_." "Sir? From the starboard side of that monstrosity! It's suicide!" "I don't care, do it! The _Turpitz_ needs our help!"

In that agonizing moment, the people aboard the ISAF flagship remembered that it was crippled. They could do nothing to stop the _Nazianz_ from destroying the _Turpitz_. Every person observed in agony the last moments of the proud ISAF battleship. It exploded in a gargantuan plume of thick smoke and scorching flames, having been hit directly by all twelve of the _Nazianz_'s 18-inch guns. As she sank, many aboard all of the Taskforce's remaining ships saluted. For those on the _Hyperion_ however, there was no time for last respects. The _Nazianz_ had changed its course, and was now heading away from the fleets, straight for the ISAF flagship.

* * *

"Bolt 2, fox 3! C'mon… damn!"

Ericks brought his Syphoner around on a Devil's tail. He fired his guns, but the Raptor rolled and dived, evading every single shot.

"Shit, these guys seem to be a lot better than before! Did they rotate pilots or something!"

Devil 1 heard the enemy's shout over the radio. He laughed, and replied, "No… We have the same pilots as always… and just out of curiosity, exactly when did you guys fight us before?"

"Uh… n-never…?"

Another one of the ISAF pilots scoffed at the other's answer. "Ericks, you idiot! Watch your tongue!"

At this, Grant's jaw dropped. Ericks…! "I…I don't believe it! You can't be him… who are you bastards!"

Aaron sighed. "Well, the Tomcat's outta the bag now… we're exactly who you think we are."

Victor's surprise turned to amusement. He jeered at the bandits, "So! Here we have five of the original Seraph Squadron! We were told you all died! Hmm, what a nice reunion… we have Ericks and, my guess, Thatcher too… who are the rest of you guys?"

There wasn't an answer. Now the bandits knew to keep radio silence.

"Oh c'mon guys, we're all friends here! Enemies… but friends… Why don't you tell us how you escaped the Yellows and we'll tell you why we're fighting better."

There was a long pause after Grant finished his sentence. Finally, he called, "Fine! If you guys are distracted, then… disengage!"

"Sir!" "Do it. Red Devils, break off the attack." The eleven F-22s reformed on their lead. Only Devil 1 understood why he would do this.

"There you go Seraph. We'll stop fighting for right now. Now, would you kindly explain how you all are alive?"

The Bolt Squad had reformed as well. Thatcher glanced at his wingmen, and took a deep breath before speaking. "Only if you explain some more about that holding back bit. As for us... well… the Yellows miscounted. Someone shot down Yellow 4 and killed him, so they couldn't account for all the Seraph. Five escaped. Simple as that."

"Hmm. I guess so. Now for our part of the deal," Victor began, "You see, there's a bunch of crap going on right now with us. It all mirrors what happened to your squad, really. But first, the major question. How could we, pilots who felt the same way as you men about the war, _not_ be assassinated nor decide to go AWOL? This is a simple question too. You see, compared to you Seraph, we were good… never great. You people were _loyal_, to a point, unlike us, who were obedient. We did what we had to do, not what we wanted to. And that's why we're alive now, and so many of your wingmen are not."

Aaron scoffed. "Keh. So you're saying now they're planning to kill you all too? Not too smart, the FEAF… Here's a question for you Grant. Just what do you want out of this war?"

Victor answered almost instantly, "A few things. One, for as many of my men to survive. Two, I wish to uphold the reputation of the Red Devils!"

"Not doing too well on that one, if I've heard right," Richardson spoke up, "You guys are being blamed for the terrorist attacks that were executed by the Yellows. Why?"

Every pilot noticed a conspicuous change in Devil 1's tone. The simple mention of that squad had infuriated him. "Goddamn those fascists…! _Yellows!_ They dare call them Yellows! Those minions of Sturmoff are nothing but pure malice… how can they be called by such an honorable name! We are blamed for everything they do, for the FEAF, the ISAF, everyone sees us as inferior… 'The Seraph! They were brilliant!' 'Oh, those Angels! Have you seen them? They're amazing!' 'No one's better than the… keh! _Yellows_…' Makes me sick. 'Those Red Devils, they aren't that good, you know. Not nearly as much as those other ace squads…they don't deserve to be called one of the elite squads of the FEAF!' Fuck them! This squad is one of the best. I know it. We all know it. Now we'll show them all why they shouldn't blaspheme _our_ names!"

Devil 1 suddenly broke formation and re-engaged. The others soon followed suit. The Bolt pilots were caught off guard. They did not break formation however, as the Devils surrounded them. A hail of missiles filled the sky as both squads locked onto each other. As the five Bolt planes emerged from the now smoky piece of sky, so did only nine Raptors. Two fell out of the smog burning, hit by missiles. The pilots clung to parachutes nearby.

"Hmm… Devils, never again. Try attack formation three," Grant commanded his wingmen. The FEAF pilots split into five groups, with four pairs of fighters and Victor going solo. Red Devil 1 attacked Aaron as the other Devils doubled up on his wingmen.

"Stay together guys. Cover each other," Bolt 1 advised. Contrary to his own order, he separated from his wingmen to pursue Grant alone. The four surrounded Bolt planes accelerated, escaping the Devils but keeping together. The bandits tried to follow but only caught up when the Bolt started flying in circles and loops. One Devil got behind an enemy Syphoner, only to have another appear dead ahead, firing a missile. Both the Devil and his prey turned to evade, but the projectile clipped the Raptor's wing. The jet spiraled down out of sight.

"Damn it, they're getting the advantage here! Back off and attack long range, Devils!" The bandits broke off and began afterburning away. Still circling, the Bolt pilots pitched up and fired in one synchronized motion. "Agh, evade!" Three missiles connected, leaving just four Devils.

"Haha, one for each of us now, man!" Ericks vaunted, "You're never safe from us!"

Meanwhile Aaron and Victor were twisting all throughout the sky, chasing one another, switching advantages at the blink of an eye. The two jets roared past the others ("Watch it man!" Thatcher heard one of the pilots, most likely Bolt 2, yell). At that instant, Bolt 1 was behind his adversary, and he was closing fast. Aaron maneuvered to bring the gun pipper over Grant's F-22, but Devil 1 dived into a defensive scissors move as Bolt 1 fired. It was a bold move, but ultimately would fail. Aaron knew that the Raptor's nozzles couldn't vector independently whereas a Syphoner's could. That meant Thatcher's plane could roll faster and would easily bring the bandit back into the firing cone. Why did Victor do it then?

The Red Devil reached the apex of his climb and inverted to dive once more. Bolt 1 had already rolled and was descending, waiting for Devil 1 to appear in his HUD. He never did.

"Huh? Where did he-"

A missile alert blared, and sheer adrenaline forced Aaron's hands to thrust forward and climb. The F-25 groaned under the G-load but pulled up to vertical. Looking up, Thatcher saw, almost in slow motion, the blood red bottom of Grant's Raptor drifting just inches away. The side missile bay's doors were still closing. He had fired at point-blank range, if not closer. Suddenly there was a violent shudder and an earsplitting grating noise. And, just like that, the F-22 was gone from overhead, having flashed right by the Syphoner.

"You crazy bastard! You were practically _on_ me when you fired! If that had hit me, you would've crashed into me and we'd _both_ be dead!" Aaron bellowed over the radio. Victor again responded immediately, "You're a threat, Bolt 1. A threat I must eliminate for the sake of my wingmen. At any cost to me."

Thatcher leveled out at angels thirteen. He glanced back at his aircraft to discover that his vertical fins had been nearly torn off. Grant's jet must have briefly collided with his own.

"You gotta be kidding me! Man, my insignia's wrecked too, damn it! That's the last straw…" Aaron flipped his jet over, spotted Devil 1, and dived for him. Bolt 1 would shoot him down at any cost… to Grant.

* * *

"Damn it! Where's the _Ulciscor_?"

"Engaging the _Valeo_. We're on our own."

"Aim all turrets for the _Nazianz_ and fire!"

Shell after shell shrieked off the ISAF flagship's deck, only to impact far away from the enemy battleship. The _Nazianz_ was steaming towards them at a steady 28 knots, and the _Hyperion_ couldn't escape or land a hit.

"Enemy cruiser, _Mucronis_, sunk by the _Audacia_."

"That's great news. How about you come help us now!"

Already it was far too late. The front turret on the _Nazianz_ opened fire, launching three shells towards the _Hyperion_. They exploded just yards away, close enough to drench the men on the decks with water. All aboard the targeted ship knew the _Nazianz_ wouldn't miss again.

"Fire! Fire!"

"Keep that damn thing away from us! Open fire!"

Volley after volley fell short of the enemy vessel. The _Nazianz_ was simply sailing too fast. Its guns fired again, blasting three gaping holes clean into the hull of the _Hyperion_. The captain and all those on the bridge were thrown down. As he stood back up, the captain realized the ship was listing heavily to port, and that the enemy battleship had begun sailing away from the crippled vessel.

"They know we're finished…" he sighed, struggling to maintain balance on the sloping floor, "Can any of our ships survive that…?"

The _Nazianz_ had changed course for the remaining ISAF ships, a battleship, cruiser, and two destroyers. However, its own supporting fleet had been entirely sunk. The enemy battleship was now closing in to finish the job.

"_Ulciscor_, opening fire!"

Luck was on the ISAF's side; a round struck the Erusian craft on the stern. Quickly though, the _Nazianz_ returned fire. The _Ulciscor_ was forced to retreat and evade the shots. As the Erusian warship kept the enemy at bay with limited shooting of one turret, it sailed towards the other ISAF vessels. The _Aspera_ and _Audacia_ prepared to engage it.

"_Aspera_, come across the enemy's port side. We'll strike from the starboard."

As the crew of the _Hyperion_ evacuated the sinking ship, the _Concitor_ headed to begin the rescue. The remaining two destroyers now took on the enemy juggernaut. It seemed the Erusians knew of their plan, and instead of firing at long range, moved all their cannons to one side. The _Nazianz_ waited while the _Audacia_ drew alongside it.

"No! Watch out!"

The deafening boom resounded over the waves. All twelve of the battleship's 18-inch guns had hit the _Audacia_ at point-blank range. The destroyer was torn into several pieces and had sunk within seconds. Yet…

"Now! Fire, _fire_!"

…the _Aspera_ had pulled the same trick. Combined, its cannons were enough to rip right through the _Nazianz_' thick armor plating. The enemy vessel erupted in a massive fireball, and the men aboard the victorious ship cheered. Six ISAF warships had to be sacrificed to see the _Nazianz_,engulfed in flames, list steadily and finally capsize, slowly sinking beneath the choppy waves. All that was left of the terror were seven pillars of thick, black smoke, one of which billowed forth from itself.

* * *

"Fox 2, fox 2!"

"Damn it, that was close!"

"This is Devil 4, I'm hit! Ejecting!"

"Roger Bolt 3, splash eight."

There were just a few Devils remaining now, but all five of the Bolt had made it through the furball. The Syphoners had taken a beating, though, and showed signs of quitting on their pilots. Aaron knew that one well-aimed missile would end the fray before that happened, and so he was chasing the necessary target, Red Devil 1. All the while, the two had been shouting vehemently at each other.

"How can you _proudly_ fight for a country that targeted civilians for slaughter with the 'Sphynx!' You're no better than they are!"

"Look at you! Mercenaries! You have no allegiances whatsoever! No causes, no reasons, just a bloodlust and desire for blood money! Or… if you _are_ who Taylor says, then you're fighting against your homeland, your own brothers and sisters!"

The two did not hate each other personally, but all of their pent-up anger at the war was finally erupting. Their wrath blinded them to all else but each other, and their attacks grew more fierce. One swirled around the other, coming so very close to colliding and thus ending their struggle right then and there. Armament wise, Grant had fired all his missiles, yet Aaron had two in reserve. At this range, nevertheless, guns would be invaluable. Of course, the pilots would still have to bring their aircrafts' noses to bear. Bolt 1 now was attempting to do just that, pulling the controls as far back as he could. The F-25's thrust vectoring and forward swept wings barely managed to put the fleeing F-22 in the gun sight.

"Firing!"

Bullets tore clean through Devil 1's wings and fins. The Raptor fell out of the circling dogfight and straightened out, as if on its own accord. Regardless of its pilot's will, the F-22 was through. Now all Devil 1 could do was wait for the final blow.

"Fox 2, that's a kill."

A warning buzzed in Victor's ears. Thatcher had locked on… but had not fired. His voice floated across the radio channels to Devil 1. He spoke slowly and calmly, "That _would_ be a kill. You're dead, Grant, and the tower's calling you to return to base. So go run on home now. There's no point in finishing you off."

Grant laughed for a while and then scoffed, "Heh heh, so it's true! Now I know for absolute certain, you guys are Seraph. Sotoan mercs… I've fought a few, and they wouldn't let money slip out of their fingers that easily. Devils, you heard… head on out. We're going home. And thanks… eight. _Ramiel_."

Bolt 1 didn't reply to Victor, but instead called to his wingmen, "Bolt aircraft, stand down. We're done here."

The three surviving F-22s separated from the F-25s. As the Bolt pilots flew back towards Comona, Ericks asked Aaron, "Ramiel? What the heck did you mean, Ramiel, Thatcher?"

"Ramiel is my middle name, Ericks."

"Ohhhhh… and I suppose Richardson knew this?"

"Yes I did."

"Man, how come I don't get told these things…"

Nearing the islands, the Bolt passed over several retreating Erusian ships. "Haha, must of ran afoul of our fleet, eh? Run, bastards, run!" The five let the vessels pass unharmed so that they might pick up the downed Devils. Soon, the Bolt came into Comona airspace.

"Come in, General Dollar… This is the Bolt Squadron, we need a place to land."

"Roger Bolt! We've taken back Comona! Feel free to land at Malacia AB to the east, over."

The Syphoners streaked over the islands towards the airfield. While they began to land, Aaron breathed a sigh of relief. This battle was over.

* * *

Wow… it's been a real long time. The war's been going for a few years now. I haven't really had the time to reflect – it's all happening so fast. I remember the beginning, four whole years ago; stepping off the bus in the middle of nowhere, meeting him for the first time… I must have really gotten on his nerves then… guess I still do, heh. I… we all were so unready for what they told us then. It was a thrilling idea, and our senses were so blinded by the excitement. Well, except for those five who left, smart guys they were. Gazing at my new wingmen, it never once entered my mind as the slightest possibility that so many of those men would be dead in just some years. Well, _all_ of us, technically. Still, I miss old man Jones and the others. Why did _we_ five survive? Were we special or something? Was it coincidence that I chose a jet with weapons, and then ended up behind Yellow 4?

Still. It can't be changed. Not now, not ever. We survived, and we refuse to just die. Just look! We've destroyed the 'Sphynx!' We're taking back our islands! We are here where we belong, avenging the shedding of innocent blood, defeating a terrible enemy… the enemy we not so long ago proudly counted ourselves among.

I'm no longer proud of my past achievements. All those medals are just hunks of metal again. The Seraph are dead, and so is their legacy. But here… we took Skully and Newfield with little resistance. That's something worthy of praise! Now, the major test begins. This group must take North Point. The Angels and the Devils are both expected to be waiting for us. As each day goes by, it makes me wonder just how long my luck will hold out, how long I will live. To all but my closest enemies and wingmen, I am already dead. I wonder how they told my mom. "Sorry to inform you of such sad news, but your son was assassinated by our own troops when he tried to defect to the enemy." Keh. The poor woman must be overwhelmed with grief. If… if I should survive this war, I will return home, walk through those doors, and let her hear, "Mother, I am home at last, and home to stay."

Then again, the shock would probably kill her. Better take it less dramatic than that.

James Ericks, June 20, 2026

* * *

The murky brown water churned and frothed below the black storm clouds that concealed the heavens above. Aaron and his wingmen struggled to fly through the fierce winds. Lightning flashed and thunder crashed; tropical storm Horace had hit the east with full force.

"Dang, visibility's near zero, can't see a thing beyond my nose," Johnathan, Bolt 5, complained. Ericks laughed back, "Maybe you should clean your canopy more often, man. Just don't run into me!" "It'll be hard to do that," Richardson chimed in, "What a crowd."

Aaron took a look around at the assembled forces. The radar was glutted with friendly returns: groaning ships fought through unyielding waves, smaller landing craft braved the undulating seas, and dozens of jets were sailing through the storm's battering gusts. All were destined for the rocky beaches of North Point, now just minutes away. Thatcher again glanced below him. The Bolt Squadron was passing over the ISAF First Naval Fleet, which had traveled from Yuktobania to join the taskforce for this assault. The carrier _Dynasty_ was its flagship.

"Shoo-wee! Man, three carriers on the front lines! That's what I'm talking about! How many planes we got up here?" asked James cheerfully. Aaron pondered this for a moment, and replied, "Well, five of us, there's the Falcon and Pitch, the Mobius… and the Omega and Wisna Squads from the _Dynasty_…" "Making about fifty or sixty aircraft total!" Daniel finished the sentence for his flight lead. It was a mighty force indeed, but these pilots would have to survive not only the landings but the complete liberation of North Point also. That thought sent a chill down Bolt 1's spine – would they have enough?

"Attention all aircraft, this is Canine, your personal E-2C Hawkeye. I smell some enemy jets headed to intercept! Cleared to engage on sight."

Thatcher saw them too. Three bandits, Su-27s, were coming head-on. "Three hostiles, twelve o'clock. Planes three through five, split and engage. Two, follow me to the beach." Ericks reacted immediately to one's command. He argued, "Man, how come I don't get to fight right off? Those guys always engage first, how come I gotta…" but Aaron cut him off, saying, "James… who's gonna be waiting for us over the beach?" "Uh… oh yeah! Duh! Let's get 'em!" Thatcher shook his head as Ericks lined up behind him instantly and followed him to the beach. The other three Bolt engaged the Flankers.

"Tally-ho on an enemy formation at the beach, doesn't look like any air cover over this part. Bolt 2, destroy that cluster of bunkers on that hill. I'll get the artillery firing at our ships," Bolt 1 stated as they approached. He dived upon the howitzers and dropped a sole bomb, devastating the position. James dropped his own, taking out three pillboxes. While they began sweeping up enemy resistance, a familiar voice called out over the radio, "Hmm, looks like they drew first blood. Let's not let them take the lead, Nelson!"

A flock of F-16s descended upon the enemy, decimating what was left. They were followed by the other three Bolt Syphoners. "Woohoo!" Pitch 7 cheered, "The Falcon and Pitch have arrived!" "Well, our saviors are here guys, late as always," Aaron joked, "Seeing as how there's no one left here, what say we leave this part of the beach to them?" The five F-25s disengaged and headed for another sector. The Falcon and Pitch turned also to go to another part of the beach, when…

"All aircraft, the enemy is crushing our allies. Sweep them out of our sky and make room for the reinforcements," a harsh voice ordered over the radio," The bandits are Falcon and Pitch pilots. Be careful, Angels…"

* * *

"No way! I've got an ace!"

"And we've got a cheater, boys!"

Zachery Taylor observed with an amused expression as Yellow 9 punched Yellow 2 over a poker hand. The Aquila Squadron had been called to this briefing room a while ago for a 'special mission,' as HQ called it. Yellow 6 yawned and looked at his watch. Twenty-one after ten. They had been waiting over an hour for the briefing to start, and were getting restless.

"Damn this bullshit, where's that fucking ass hole commander!" one of the pilots yelled. Taylor laughed at the use of so many curse words in one sentence before replying, "Probably waiting outside the door just to piss us off." Several of the pilots rose to leave and, just as they got to the door, the base commander and several assistants entered through it. They went to the front of the room and called for attention.

"Okay, let's get started so we aren't here too long ("Too late," muttered the assembled pilots indignantly). You all, as best in the FEAF ("Let the sucking-up begin," one of Yellow 6's wingmen whispered in his ear), have been chosen to lead the counterattack on the enemy beachheads when they land on the mainland. Intelligence says the ISAF will land in the south. We are preparing a counteroffensive that will drive them back into the ocean ("Which, of course, won't be ready until after the ISAF have taken the entire continent," another pilot commented quietly), where we'll drown the bastards! At any of the possible landing sites, there are mountains just behind the beaches. We'll amass a secret force in these hills that will sweep the enemy off the beaches ("Provided they don't notice it first," Zachery himself scoffed). Then a fleet will surround the hostile fleet, and your squad and others will destroy the air cover and any ships you can. The ISAF is retaking North Point as we speak. This may be our best chance to annihilate the forward enemy troops. Operation 'Bishop' is to begin immediately with the build-up and movement of troops. Of course… with you guys involved, it'll be a black mission. From now on until afterwards you talk with no one except those participating. Understood (The pilots dully nodded)? Good. No one will know about this entirely until it happens, not even all those involved, least of all the enemy. You will be moving as soon as possible to Nemitas Air Base in southeast Usea. Any questions? No? Alright, dismissed."

* * *

The transmission's last word stood out in Falcon 4's mind. Angels. _The_ Angels? Marshall felt something, some feeling. Was it fear? No… if it were the Blue Angels, his squad would have them outnumbered. Despair, perhaps? No, it could not be that. Then, hesitation? Yes! He was hesitating… but why, Brian did not know.

"Canine, this is Falcon 4, where are the enemies?" he called. He received no response but static. "Canine, come in. Repeat, Canine-"

"Too bad, too bad… Falcon 4, where are _you_? We're right here."

Interrupting, the unknown voice had spoken again. Now Brian and Jordan knew for certain. Marshall looked and saw amidst lightning strikes eleven dark clouds that seemed to be moving. "All aircraft, hostiles to our nine o'clock! Engage!" Falcon 4 shouted to his wingmen. Warning sirens went crazy as the two formations passed through each other; though, not one of the missiles fired found its target. The Blue Angels broke off and trailed after the Hunting Falcons. One F-18, on the other hand, ascended over the battle, as if surveying it.

"Come out, come out, little four… the Angel of Death has a grudge still to be sated on your blood! I am going to find you and kill you, Falcon 4!" the lone Hornet's pilot bellowed. Marshall himself had not yet engaged the bandits. Rather, he hovered on the edge of the fray, now understanding the feeling of apprehension. Angel 4 was insane with wrath; would he, Brian, be willing to fight a psychopath one-on-one? Unfortunately, he had no choice.

"A tan wing… a Falcon insignia, the number four! I've found you, Marshall! Time to die!"

Rhodes sprang at Brian, who was below him. Angel 4 was attacking from Falcon 4's three o'clock, so the F-16 broke hard right. As Marshall turned, Dalton jeered, "There's no escape… there are no 'mysterious enigma' squads to save you here, since the Devils are tying them up…" The Hornet rolled over and pulled into what amounted to an inverted Cobra. Having thus leveled his craft out directly behind Brian's, Angel 4 launched a missile before his jet dropped back into its dive. Falcon 4 whirled his fighter to the left to avoid the projectile, but it exploded just yards away. His F-16S took some shrapnel and sputtered a trail of wispy, gray smoke almost indistinguishable from the storm clouds. Nonetheless, Rhodes took notice while he climbed to attack Marshall again.

"C'mon four, what's wrong?" he taunted Brian, "Being unsure in a dogfight is tantamount to being dead…"

Angel 4 spiraled up at Falcon 4. His prey broke right again, and the predator followed. As other such games of cat and mouse played out all over the sky, Dalton pursued Marshall relentlessly. The missile alert tone was pounding in Brian's ears. Still, Rhodes had not hit him again, yet Falcon 4 realized that he only had disadvantages in this fight. Once more Marshall jinked to the right, but this time he had a plan.

In the Killer Hornet's cockpit, Angel 4 happened to glance at the small mirror hung on the canopy above the controls. Another F-16S was bearing down upon him at high speed and would be right on his tail if he turned with Brian. Instead, Dalton jerked his craft to the left, fishtailing through a semicircle. The other Falcon zoomed by Rhodes, and now _he_ was on the _enemy's_ tail. The Angel launched a missile towards this new target, but the bandit was still traveling fast, and the projectile fell behind. Now Dalton pursued Brian through the turn, finally clear of danger after just seconds. He popped a few rounds off from his Hornet's Vulcan, scoring one or two hits on Falcon 4's wing. By then, however, the other F-16 had returned.

"Persistent, aren't you?" Rhodes muttered, "Must be the other ace." Indeed it was. Pitch 7 was determined to help his friend get his damaged jet out of the danger zone. His own F-16 jerked around behind Dalton, taking a few Vulcan shots wherever possible. However, the thin veil of smoke from Marshall's plane obscured his vision, and so Jordan had no way of knowing if his assault was effective. But then the smoke cleared; Brian had turned away. Rhodes followed Marshall, and so Nelson followed Rhodes. They continued in this manner for some time, exchanging fire every now and then. Falcon 4's aircraft was rapidly deteriorating under the perpetual shots.

"Pitch 7, get this guy off my tail! This bird's almost had it!"

Jordan's mind raced. He was the one in the hot seat, not his buddy. He would be the one who swayed this battle one way or the other.

"Brian, break righ- LEFT!"

Neither Dalton nor Marshall budged, both obviously baffled by this garbled command. Nelson hesitated a moment, then launched a missile. Cursing, Angel 4 banked away to evade it. Falcon 4 took this opportunity to head south at top speed towards the friendly ships.

"Thanks, seven! Be sure to hold him off 'til I get back to the fleet!" Brian shouted to his wingman. Pitch 7 didn't reply, for he was already taking off after the Angel. Rhodes had arced around, raring for another go at his targets. Surprisingly, only one F-16 was there to meet him, and it wasn't damaged.

"You're not Falcon 4… be gone!"

Dalton fired a missile from medium range at the jet in front of him. Nelson, its pilot, accelerated and broke off the stiff-arm attempt. Now Angel 4's vision was clear – and he noticed a dot zooming toward the ISAF fleet on afterburner. The craft had a single engine, whose exhaust was at times blotted out by… smog.

"Oh no you don't, Marshall! You can't escape again!" Dalton roared, throwing his F-18 into top speed and giving chase. Jordan returned to discover the Killer Hornet slipping away from him. Pitch 7 throttled up as well, struggling to catch the bandit, already far ahead.

"It's no good, I won't get there in time! Watch out Brian!"

Falcon 4 whipped his head around to see behind him. Thousands of feet away and closing fast was Angel 4, and even farther was Pitch 7. Marshall knew he was in range, but Rhodes had not yet fired. He must have been out of his longer range missiles. Brian was safe for perhaps another minute, until Angel 4 advanced close enough to use Sidewinders. And agonizing thirty seconds passed as Dalton steadily gained on Marshall's F-16. Even if it was not damaged, the F-16 wouldn't have been fast enough to escape. Another ten seconds passed. Ships blew by Falcon 4's canopy, but for some reason he thought he would be able to land on the _Gullfaxi_ with a bloodthirsty Angel on his tail, rather than have to eject and be rescued by a vessel. A warning buzz filled Brian's ears. Rhodes was in range.

"At last… goodbye, Brian Marshall. Fox 2!"

* * *

"Yellow 1, you have clearance to land, runway A22."

Yellow 6 and the rest of the squadron circled around the airfield as their flight lead descended. This was their temporary station in the southeast, Nemitas Air Base. The waiting pilots were chatting about the upcoming black ops mission rather conspicuously.

"Operation Bishop eh? Kind of a stupid name, doncha think?"

"Nah it's all a game of chess."

"Huh?"

"Keh, think about it. We're the bishop, we surprise the enemy when they're not suspecting us. We position ourselves and wait for the enemy rooks and queens to start moving about… then wham! Why, my buddy put me in what he thought was checkmate once with a rook, until I drove my bishop from his side of the board to mine and took that piece! It was right in front of his eyes too."

"I still don't get it."

"C'mon guys… the ISAF's rooks and queen are moving… the Falcon, Pitch, and Bolt. And we'll be waiting."

Taylor laughed out loud at this. "The Bolt Squad is the queen, huh? Crossdressers, I knew it!" The rest of the Yellows roared with laughter as well. Why not be in such high spirits? Once the bishop struck, the Erusian superpower would be that much closer to checkmating the ISAF. How could such a plan not succeed, with the Aquila at the helm?

* * *

Nothing had happened. Flacon 4 blinked several times, unbelieving. "Fox 2 I said, damn it! Fox 2!" Dalton jostled the launch trigger again and again to no avail. The missile was jammed. "Lucky you, Marshall! It seems something doesn't want me to kill you!" hollered Rhodes, "Too bad I still have my gun…"

Now Angel 4 was accelerating towards him again. In just another few seconds, he would open fire. Brian had to do something before he was killed. But what? He yawed his craft left, for that was about all it was capable of in its current state. Tracers flashed by his jet. Rhodes was firing.

"Die Marshall! Die like Leanne did!" Dalton screeched, "Feel the life draining from—what? Holy _shit_!"

The bullets stopped abruptly. Behind Falcon 4, the Angel's plane was blasted to smithereens by a deluge of missiles from Pitch 7. Evidently, Angel 4 had slowed down to attack Brian, and Jordan caught up. Both noticed, though, that the Angel had punched out before the hailstorm of projectiles had hit him. He slowly drifted down to the white-capped waves below.

"Phew! That was close! A few more hits and this jet would be down there with him!" Falcon 4 sighed with relief. Then, as Pitch 7 pulled up next to him, his F-16 lurched ominously. Brian's jet had taken quite a lot of damage and wouldn't hold out much longer.

"Dang, this thing's trashed. We're still nowhere near the _Gullfaxi_, guess I'll have to bail out after all. Where then?" Marshall asked Nelson. His wingman glanced around. "Uh… well, we're near the _Dynasty_. You can try there." "Good idea, seven! Here goes…"

The carrier was just a few hundred yards away. Marshall turned towards it very slowly and increased the throttle. "See ya later, bud!" Falcon 4 yanked the ejection handle just as he rocketed over the ship. The pilotless F-16 flew harmlessly into the ocean, and Brian floated down to the vessel, landing on the flight deck with a thud. Crew who saw what happened rushed to give him a hand.

"Idiot," Jordan laughed, "They'll kick your ass up and down the block for that kinda stunt!"

Pitch 7 headed for the _Gullfaxi_. Chasing down Rhodes had left him needing rearming and refueling. Along the way he listened to the radio chatter and pondered some things. Canine, the E-3 whose voice had vanished during the fight with the Angels, was back on the air. Perhaps there had been some interference.

"Woohee! Those bastards are runnin'! Canine to all units, keep it up, the Devils have turned tail an' fled! Now for the Angels, eh?"

Indeed, now that several of their aircraft had been shot down, the Blue Angels started to retreat. The reinforcements had been defeated, and a beachhead was finally being established. Jordan knew that as far as he was concerned, this battle was over.


	20. Chapter 20: The Grand Stage is Set

* * *

"Then I saw an angel standing on the sun. He cried out in a loud voice to all the birds flying overhead, 'Come here. Gather for the great feast, to eat the flesh of kings, the flesh of military officers, and the flesh of warriors…'" – Revelation, Ch. 19: 17-18

* * *

The navy blue water churned and frothed below the brown and gray storm clouds concealing the heavens above. Lightning struck all around the Bolt, Falcon, and Omega Squadrons and fierce gales and torrential rain pounded their jets. Even as tropical storm Horace moved towards the mainland, so did the liberating ISAF forces.

"I hope the others are as much fun as us right now!" Pitch 7 shouted over the din of the storm. He was accompanying the others as a little extra backup. No one knew just who or what would be waiting for them, though chances were it wouldn't be the Angels or the Devils.

"Yeah, I'm sure they are! Gees, this is enough to drive one insane!"

The 'others' were the Mobius, Pitch, and Wisna Squadrons, who were assigned to assist the capture of the Crowne Beaches. The other group was to support the operations on the Luther Beaches farther north.

"There go the landing forces…" Ericks mumbled, watching the small crafts on the ocean. Suddenly he burst out, "Alrighty boys! It's July 4, the Osean Independence Day! You know what that means!"

Aaron smiled and cheered, "Sure do! All aircraft, initiate Operation Fireworks! It's time for our whole continent's independence!"

* * *

Spire Air Base received an unexpected visitor that day. Having failed to prevent the landing at North Point, the Blue Angels and Red Devils were recalled to Spire for a new assignment, straight from the Prime Minister. All the pilots were lounging about the base waiting for him, but he would be arriving late. Instead, there was another, different visitor, surprisingly.

She walked right past the guard station at the entrance to the base, certain they would recognize her. However, with her deep scars on her face, arms, and legs, her faded Army uniform, her tattered brown hair, and with a limp in her step, she was unknown to the watchmen. One rushed to stop her, to whom she flashed her ID. He quickly scanned it, then took a step back, amazed. She kept on walking.

The woman entered the main building, where the crews' and pilots' rooms were. As she rounded a corner, she came face-to-face with Devils 1 and 2. The two had been chatting, but cut off their conservation at once. Grant looked at her in horror and complete disbelief. An awkward silence passed, and the woman simply brushed past the two with a scowl. Victor whispered aloud, "This… this is the worst thing that could have happened…"

At last she arrived at her destination, the crew room. Entering, she stopped a nearby pilot and asked, "Where is the flight leader of the Blue Angels?" The pilot, Angel 2, took a good look at her. She seemed so very familiar… He directed her towards a man sitting alone near a window, Dalton Rhodes. Upon seeing that Angel 4 was now the flight lead, she broke into a cold, piercing cackle. Dalton, recognizing only the cruelty of the voice, suspected that Colonel Ivan Mikhail had returned for some reason. Looking up, however, he found himself staring into deep, hazel eyes. Rhodes leaned back to get a better view of the scarred face in front of him. He tried to speak, but what he saw made his voice die in his throat. The woman challenged his disbelief.

"First Lieutenant Leanne Bridger, Blue Angel 7, reporting for duty… _sir_."

* * *

"It's them! The Points of the Arrowhead!" "Run for it!"

Aaron and his squadron watched the Falcon Squadron go to work destroying enemy emplacements. They couldn't help commentating on some of the strange things the Erusians below were shouting. "Points of the Arrowhead? Who're… _what_ are they talking about? You know, Thatcher?" "Not a clue. Richardson?" "Nope, it's new to me."

Their AWACS, Canine again, laughed, "You mean you guys haven't been listenin' to all this? The enemy's been callin' Pitch 7 an' Falcon 4 the 'Points of the Arrowhead,' ever since over Comona! Like, they're leadin' the attack against the Erusians, got it? If ya could hear this racket, you'd know real quick!"

"Well man, that explains that! I guess, anyway. Congrats you two, you've got yourselves a nickname now, like us!"

Marshall heard Ericks and joked, "Okay, so what nickname do you have? Chatterbox? That's the only one I've heard, over."

"Very funny man… I'll have you know we _are_ the Ghosts of the Seraph, according to the Yellows and Angels!"

"Well good for you! First step towards terrifying the enemy: get a nickname!" Nelson chuckled. The others laughed too. The enemy was in full retreat on the beach. Aaron stopped laughing and looked around, baffled. Not a single fighter had challenged them during the attack.

"Still no joy. I was expecting a great, big welcoming party."

"Something's up, stay alert, five."

"I don't know boys an' gals… Canine here, I think we've got a few bugs crawlin' up from the mountains. Take a look."

The pilots changed course towards the inland objective. Sure enough, it seemed reinforcements were finally coming. "Heads up. Looks like a lot of them. Bolt 1 to all planes, ditch the ground targets, they're running. Ready for air combat, over." "Ro-_ger_! It's about time, man!"

All of a sudden the skies previously devoid of bandits filled with them as dozens rolled in to attack. The ISAAF pilots watched and identified F-16s, F-18s, and… Su-51s.

"Oh hell, the Yellows are back! Where are Marshall and Nelson?" "F-18s! Are they Angels?" "I don't think so!" "Whew! Had me worried there for a minute."

The bandits scattered the ISAF aircraft. There were planes not only from Aquila, but also from the Blue and Black Squadrons. "Canine here! The other force at Luther is bein' attacked too! Wyvern an' White an' Red Squads!"

In the confusion of the sudden furball, Aaron tried to direct his wingmen. "Bolt Squad, Falcon 4, Pitch 7, follow me! Falcon and Omega, take out those other guys! We'll handle the Yellows!" The bandits had spread out, but now regrouped to meet the challenge. There were fourteen Aquila Night Ravens and only seven ISAF jets pitted against them. "This isn't gonna be easy… but at least I got a full load of missiles this time!" Thatcher remarked, "Okay guys, stick together! Don't give 'em an inch to maneuver!"

While the seven remained in formation, the Yellows separated again and surrounded them. Yellow 6 jeered at them from somewhere amidst the swarm of Sukhois, "Well, well, well! A nice reunion with the people I hate most! We have some seriously unfinished business, you and I… and this time nothing will stop me from finishing it! The trap is closing!"

"Man, somebody shut him up," Ericks retorted, losing his patience, "Let's go!" He broke off and pursued a nearby Yellow before Aaron could stop him. Although, the bandit was caught off guard and downed easily. "Just two for each of us, and I already got one! Bet ya I can get more!"

Bolt 1 rolled his eyes and muttered, "Aw, to hell with it." The other six ISAF jets detached and spread out. Bolt 2 found himself engaging Taylor, of all Yellows. "So, it's the loudmouth Seraph I have to kill first, is it? What a pity, no challenge at all here…" "What are you talking about, man? There's plenty of challenge going up against you… Oh man, why did I leave formation…?"

Zachery smirked. Clearly Ericks was not looking forward to fighting him. "What the hell," Taylor murmured, "I'll play with him." Yellow 6 let Bolt 2 slip onto his tail. "Hit me if you can, Seraph…"

The Night Raven rolled and turned this way and that, and James struggled to follow. An F-25 was more maneuverable than an Su-51 but just barely, and Taylor was certainly skilled enough to compensate. Ericks had a tough fight on his hands.

"Yawn! An F-4 could turn faster than you, Seraph!"

"Shut up!"

While the two swerved through the furball and other planes were splashed left and right, James started to lose his concentration under Zachery's taunts. The Yellow was waiting for just the right moment to lose his pursuer and then take him out. Ericks simply had to make a mistake. "If I'm banking on him screwing up, it won't take long." Taylor mused with a slight smile. His smug expression hadn't changed; six was certain he was in control of this fight. Behind him, James wasn't keeping up with the Yellow as well as before. Now was Taylor's opportunity.

"Come on Seraph! I'm this way!"

Yellow 6 veered right while Bolt 2 had gone right; the Yellow pulled off a Hook turn and then accelerated quickly (an advantage of the Sukhoi's powerful engines) to perform the maneuver again. Ericks had enough sense to loop back over towards the bandit, and he zipped by Taylor as he finished his second Hook.

"Damn, that didn't work? That's _very_ annoying, Seraph…"

Zachery didn't bother turning again to get on Bolt 2's tail, but let James onto his six once more. He was determined to switch the advantage flawlessly to his favor this time and shoot Ericks down easily.

* * *

The bishop was moving and the trap was indeed closing.

Offshore, the New ISAF fleet clustered together so as not to get separated by the storm or singled out by the enemy. All their attentions had been drawn to the beaches where the new enemy threats had revealed themselves at last. None aboard the ships caught sight of the encroaching enemy fleet until they were surrounded. The first warning arose just as the Erusians opened fire.

"We're under attack! To battle stations, to battle stations!" "Whoa! What's that shaking?" "The _Larentia_ has taken a direct hit! She's listing!" "Damn it, fire back! What's the matter with you!"

The Yuke ships reacted first, firing a volley back at the Erusians. Most fell short or overshot due to poor visibility. The automated turrets on some of the ISAF destroyers weren't facing the enemy and could not fire. The vessels hastened to turn around and fight back, but the Erusians had free line of sight for the time.

"We're taking heavy fire! The enemy has us completely outnumbered!" "Air support! We need some real damn air support right now!"

* * *

"What the-! The fleet's being attacked!" "We can't help them, we're surrounded by the enemy!"

Aaron cursed himself for allowing his allies to fall into a trap (though it wasn't his fault). He and the others were completely absorbed in their battle with the Yellows, and the other enemy squadrons were putting up a tremendous fight. The situation looked grim for the ISAF fleet.

"Yellow 6 to all Yellows. Don't allow the enemy to slip away and attack our allied fleet. Keep them distracted."

An epiphany struck Bolt 1; Taylor was in control of the Erusian air forces. If he went down, then maybe the tide could be turned before the ISAF fleet was annihilated! He at once turned to find the Yellow, but noticed he already was being pursued. Ericks was clinging tightly to his tail, not skipping a beat. Aaron laughed, wondering if Zachery had even realized James was back there.

"Heh heh… Go get 'im, Ericks."

Bolt 2 learned from his mistake, and was also learning Taylor's moves and flying style. In comparison, the Su-51 could beat the Syphoner in every aspect but turning and climbing ability and mobility in general. Even these advantages held by the F-25B were slight, but enough for Ericks to apply them well enough to beat Yellow 6. Zachery hadn't grasped it yet, but James was indeed taking everything the Night Raven could throw his way. Taylor was relying on maneuvers to shift the advantage to himself, yet Ericks knew he had him beat there. Bolt 2 settled down, ignoring the Yellow's jaunts and jeers, taking the turns as they came. "Just like Thatcher man, be cool and calm, just like Thatcher…" the pilot muttered to himself over and over again.

"Psh! Are you still back there, Seraph? You really don't give up!"

Yellow 6 smirked. Enough was enough. "Goodbye Seraph, it's time to end this repetitive little game of ours…" With that, Taylor jerked back on the flight stick and brought his jet vertical in a Cobra, then throttled up. "A Cobra Strike, courtesy the Blue Angels," Zachery mocked the Syphoner below him, "Follow if you can or are stupid enough to dare, Seraph."

As soon as Ericks climbed to chase after the Yellow, he pulled into yet another Cobra, this time yawing the craft 180 degrees and then pulling the nose up again. Yellow 6 was staring down Bolt 2 now. "Fox 2, Seraph! Fox 2!" Unfortunately for Taylor, Ericks had foreseen something like this happening, and had pushed the throttle forward and ascended. The F-25 shot well past the missile at mach 2.5. "Damn it Seraph, this is boring, don't you think? Let's just end this now…"

James scoffed. "What's the matter, Yellow? Getting worried?" He pulled the throttle back and dived onto the Su-51's tail once again. "Not a chance my little friend, not a chance…"

"You _sound_ worried. Fox 3!" The missile was away from Bolt 2 in the blink of an eye; Yellow 6 barely had time to react. "Ergh! No!" A near miss, a very near miss. "C'mon man, that was an easy one to avoid. You gotta do better than that." Zachery gritted his teeth. Something in this fight had changed, and it wasn't the advantage so much as the one making the insults. Still, the Yellow was not worried. He would kill Ericks right now.

"I'm not worried, and I will do better! Watch this!" He veered up, then down, then left, arcing around the Syphoner. Or so he _thought_ he circled the jet.

"Hey idiot, don't tip me off when you're gonna do something," Ericks taunted right back, still comfortably sitting on Taylor's tail. Yellow 6 whipped his head around in disbelief. There was no way Ericks could have followed that… right? "A Syphoner will always out-climb a Raven. You should know that by now!" the Bolt pilot called, "Anyway… fox 2!"

Zachery jinked like never before, suddenly unsure of if the Bolt pilot really was Ericks or someone far more skilled. With a look of terror on his face, Taylor realized that he was no longer in control of this fight. Try as he may to deny the fact, he still knew deep down that he had met his match in this Ghost of the Seraph, whichever one it was. Nevertheless, his pride would not let Zachery quit now.

Pulling a quick Hook turn and accelerating back up to speed, he glanced back briefly to see where the enemy was. The Yellow was shocked to see him still right behind him. "Yeah, yeah, yeah… I've seen this move a lot, Yellow. I won't fall for it again." Taylor's mind raced. What else could he do? An idea came to him, but he didn't like it… albeit, he didn't have a choice anyway.

"Yellow 1! Yellow 11! Yellow 16! Anyone! Damn it, I need… help here!"

Bolt 2 laughed his head off. "Not worried, eh? Too bad Yellow, you're friends are at the mercy of mercenaries now… and we don't have mercy. By the way, who are the Seraph you keep talking about? Fox 2!"

The words struck Taylor like a thousand knives piercing his stomach. These pilots, the Bolt, weren't Seraph after all! It couldn't be, they had to be, there was no other way to explain-

_Boom_. The Night Raven took a direct hit and exploded, its pilot having been too distracted to evade the missile. Yellow 6 cursed himself and his squadron, he cursed Sotoa and the mercenaries, and, most of all, he cursed the Seraph Squadron for all they had done. He jerked the eject handle and shot out of the crippled Sukhoi.

* * *

"Yeah! Get those bastards!" "Woohoo!" "ISAAF! ISAAF!"

Aaron listened to the cheers of the ISANF (Independent State Allied Naval Forces) vessel crews over the radio. They had fought off the Yellows and other Erusians once their leader, Yellow 6, had been shot down by Ericks. Now the Falcon and Wisna jets rolled in on the Erusian fleet attacking their own and annihilated the enemy ships.

The Bolt Squadron and Mobius Squadron proudly strolled about the airspace that they had won, observing the 'trap' falling apart. Ericks, meantime, was celebrating his victory over the one he touted as the FEAF's best ace.

"…And then he pulled another Hook, right? So I was all like, 'Oh no you don't!' and followed him with my own Hook, man, then he was all like, 'Holy crap!' and stuff…! Then I just nailed him!"

"Well, sounds great, James," Aaron replied, "I guess we _do _have to respect you now. You did really well there, taking out that ace."

"Haha, darn right, man! He's the best but Bolt 2 is better! I _am_ awesome!"

Daniel laughed aloud at Ericks and Thatcher. "Great job Aaron. Now he'll never shut up!" The rest of the Bolt laughed with him.

"This is Canine to the victorious ISAAF pilots! Great job out there, the enemy's toast! Our allies are advancin' smoothly an' can't be stopped from makin' that beachhead now! Return to base everyone, we've got a party goin', or so I've heard."

* * *

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Sturmoff. Come down here."

The FEAF General climbed down the gangplank to the small private ship upon which the Prime Minister was standing. This 'Sturmoff' was the Erusian General of the Air Force, Viktor Sturmoff. The Minister had invited him for a little tour. Of what though, Viktor did not know.

"We'll be departing soon. Hurry up and take a seat."

"Yes sir."

The vessel set sail shortly thereafter from the tiny port at the edge of Farbanti. It set a course to the northwest, for a chain of islands. The Minister approached Sturmoff to tell him where they were going. He glanced briefly and tentatively at Viktor's uncombed hair and stubbly chin, disgusted as always at his poor hygiene. This time however, he did not mention it.

"Tell me, Sturmoff. You received the document about the Megalith II project?"

Viktor nodded. It was a report detailing the construction of a new superweapon. However, it did not say where it was being built, or for what exact purpose, or even what kind of machine it was. The General figured it was some sort of aircraft, or he would not have been informed.

"Well, I have some news for you. The construction site of this new weapon has been continuing its work undisturbed for several years, ever since the 'Sphynx' took its first shots and missed. When they missed every shot and had to develop an entirely new radar system for it, I knew I couldn't count on it all the time. So I ordered this project to begin. The 'Experimental Attack Mega – 100A.' The XAM-100A."

Viktor nodded again to show he understood. "How far along are they in construction?"

"Rather far. The hull is nearing completion, and work on the wings is starting."

"That's good to hear. Just curious about some things… does it have a name? And, uh… how exactly is this craft a superweapon?"

The Minister smiled. "I thought you'd never ask… This craft is called Megafloat. I used to call it Megalith II, but Megalith was on the ground. This won't be."

"Megafloat… got it," Sturmoff repeated.

"Now, about your other question: Megafloat will carry fourteen nuclear separable warhead MIRV missiles. Each missile will hold ten nuclear warheads. Think about it Sturmoff… one hundred and forty nukes for any damn thing we decide shouldn't exist!"

Viktor let out a low whistle. "One hundred and… damn, I'd hate to be the one to give the order to launch this sucker…"

"You won't be."

"No?"

"No. I had assigned three others to be in charge. You… you will still receive monthly reports on progress, but will not be in direct control. You, Sturmoff, have other duties." As he said this, the Minister laid his left arm on a briefcase he had beside him. Sturmoff noticed it for the first time. "When will these duties begin, sir?"

"Immediately after this visit to the XAM-100A construction site," the Minister said while opening the briefcase. He picked out the contents, several stapled packets, and handed them to Sturmoff.

"Your longtime assignment revolves around the Lone Star and Angel Killer projects. I trust you know them well?"

Viktor's expression became very serious as he nodded. He knew almost nothing of Megalith II… but he had personally requested Project Angel Killer, the production of Lone Star fighters to counter the new threat posed by the ISAF 'Bolt Squadron.' Both Sturmoff and the Minister had heard from the Yellows how they believed that the Bolt pilots were really surviving Seraph.

"EPI has begun building the first few of the nine fighters you ordered. Now, one of these jets you will pilot. As for the others, obviously, you will need to review the performance of our air force's top pilots and pick eight to pilot these crafts. These papers are the profiles of quite a few eligible pilots, including some from the Belkan Air Force."

The General flipped through some, seeing the pilots' pictures and names. "Afanasi Borislav… Victor Grant… Vincent Jones? The Seraph leader?"

The Minister snatched that page from Viktor, glanced at it, then crumpled it up and threw it into the water. "How the hell did that get in there…"

"Heh heh, indeed… hmm, Ivan Mikhail, certainly a good pilot… Dalton Rhodes… Zachery Taylor. The Yellow, right? Aaron Thatcher…"

Sturmoff stopped, smirked at the Prime Minister, and threw Aaron's profile overboard too. "Another dead man… I don't worry about dead men. I'll go over these. Now, I do believe you did say 'duties,' as in more than one?"

"I can't slide anything by you Sturmoff… You're going back on the front lines. I need you to take command of the Red Devil Squadron. They're turning out just like the Seraph, and I won't have them turn against us too. You will be piloting an Su-51 Night Raven until the aircraft I had custom ordered for you arrives from Belka. Then you'll pilot that until EPI finishes your fighter."

"I see. It will be done, sir."

The ship's engines stopped, and the captain came to where the Minister and the General were sitting. "We've arrived, sirs." "Ah! Thank you. Let's go, Sturmoff."

The men disembarked onto a floating steel pier that extended out from the island. The island itself was large (over a mile long), but the dock had to be built entirely on the water because an enormous hangar took up the bulk of the island.

"What in the-! Do they have the… the Demon of-"

"Razgriz, Sturmoff? The Demon of Razgriz! No Sturmoff… The beast contained within these walls will do more than give little children nightmares! _Every_one will fear Erusea once this beast arises and exterminates the ISAF!"

As the men walked around to the front entrance of the hangar, Viktor realized that it was actually two halves of a hangar pushed together, covering all but a narrow strip of the craft's hull. The nose and rear hung out over the water, and men on scaffolding and cranes were attaching huge nozzles to the back.

"Is this… uh, _thing_ powered by rocket engines?" Sturmoff questioned. The Minister replied without looking at him, "Ten of the biggest. Five on back, which they're finishing now, and five on the bottom for lift. Ah! I'm sure this man can explain more…"

A colonel walked up and introduced himself as Andre Kilroy. He shook hands with Viktor. "I'm first in command here at the site. Tell me, what do you think, General?"

"Uh…well," Viktor stammered, "I'm… awestruck. Awestruck, really. This thing is… holy. Intimidating, to say the least."

"That's the general reaction…" Kilroy laughed, "Come on, I'll show you around."

The three strolled around the building, Andre shouting out details so to be heard over the welders working on the wings. "The fuselage is exactly 5,300 feet long! Well, okay, give or take an inch… The wingspan will be about as long too! Watching this thing take off will really be something!"

Silently Sturmoff agreed. He could not tear his eyes away from Megafloat's sheer size, and even bumped into a few workers because he was so distracted. But something else was bugging him, something that Kilroy had not yet mentioned.

"Wait a minute, colonel… how exactly is Megafloat supposed to defend itself? What systems does it have for self-defense? Surely the ISAF will attack it with everything it's got! How can it destroy aircraft and ground forces?"

Andre had no idea how to answer the general's query. He couldn't give a satisfactory response because Megafloat had no way to defend itself! "Uh…well, I suppose some escorts could deal with them… but we'd need a lot of escorts then, so… hmm… I don't really know, general!" Understandably, the Minister was not pleased. "How do you expect it to do anything if it can't even protect itself!"

"That wasn't part of the plan, sir! We have no room for defensive armaments with all these nukes on board!"

Viktor stumbled away from the other two shaking his head as they argued back and forth. He was the general of the air force, Viktor was thinking to himself. Surely he could solve this problem… "Let's see," Sturmoff pondered, "A hundred and forty nukes really does seem excessive… If Megafloat can destroy either aircraft or ground forces, then we could have less escorts who need simply destroy the other targets left… Yes, that's it. The XAM-100A is an aircraft, and so it will destroy other aircraft… the best way possible!"

The General waved his arms between Kilroy and the Minister to draw attention to himself and yelled, "We'll just have to make room! Andre, can some of the missiles be removed? Say, two?"

"Remove them? You mean tube and all? It'll take awhile, but it could be done!"

"Then I've got an order (the Minister glared at Viktor)… er, a _suggestion_ for your team! A survey team found that six of the Stonehenge turrets are salvageable! You may want to consider taking them down, repairing them, and sticking them on here! That'll take care of any planes, so escorts can concentrate on ground forces!"

The Minister's scowl turned to a grin. "This is why you're general of the air force, Sturmoff! God damn, you can be so very brilliant sometimes! Get to work on it at once, Kilroy!"

"Yes sir! I'll send word to the Mega Projects Team stationed in San Salvacion immediately!"

Andre saluted and disappeared into a nearby office. The Minister turned to Viktor. "Well Sturmoff," he began, "Would you like to head back now? I'll finish touring here and return later. You can go get started on those assignments of yours. Speak to the boat captain at the dock and he'll take you back to Farbanti."

"Okay sir. Until we meet again." The general saluted his leader. "With your will, sir." He left, staring up at Megafloat one last time while he walked.

* * *

"After the ISAF retreated, we had nothing to do basically. Then, Belka calls up and says they need our help…"

Dante Scheiner, Blue Angel 2, walked into the crew room, and two voices met his ears. His flight lead was talking with the 'dead woman walking,' Bridger. He strolled silently to the coffee machine in the corner, unnoticed by the two. To find out just what they were discussing, he eavesdropped.

"Operation Demon Hunting. We had to lead some useless Belkan squads into battle, and let me emphasize, they were _useless_… I left the battle the first time, couldn't stand that idiot's leadership. Got grounded for it, too… but there was this guy, Colonel Nichol or something…"

Dante took a sip of his coffee. It was cold and rather weak, so he returned to the machine to make a fresh pot. Dalton and Leanne still had not noticed him.

"So, there they all were. Or some anyway. A few had already been shot down. All the bandits were still there, _of course_. Obviously that idiot still wasn't leading well. I lined up behind him and fired an IR missile and got rid of that bastard!"

With his back turned, Angel 2 grimaced. Here were two of his wingmen, joyfully recounting Karl Douglas's murder. His enmity for these two deepened with every word they spoke.

"And so we came back. But get this: everything I'm about to tell you I left out, because… I think it's connected," Rhodes continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. Dante strained to hear. "On May 13, I was sitting in that bar in San Salvacion. Who walks in, but none other than the almighty and wonderful Seraph Squadron! They chase out all the non-air force personnel… which of course didn't mean me… and they never noticed I was sitting there. So they, and I mean Thatcher, Ericks, and Jones, and so on were talking to the barkeep about some dead ace who was supposedly the best ever or something until he got shot down…"

"Not too good if he died, is he?" Leanne laughed.

"Not good at all! Anyway, whatever else they were chatting about, it convinced them that they were on the wrong side in this war. That night they went AWOL! And _I_ had the great pleasure of informing the commander of their decision. The Yellows chased all of 'em down over Olim Ravine. I heard that some even _begged_ for mercy before the Yellows executed them! Pitiful!"

Scheiner gritted and gnashed his teeth. He knew the Seraph would never plead, they would have gone down fighting.

"One Yellow, though, didn't come back. Some of the Seraph might have escaped then. Bloody idiot probably got too confident while flying his fancy new jet and crashed!"

"Or more likely was shot down. You ever think of that, Rhodes?" Angel 2 muttered to himself. Dalton went right on talking, still having not taken notice of Dante.

"And, well, it gets better from here… a week or so later, some damn terrorists blew up the 'Sphynx's Sonnatrac Radar. It couldn't track any targets at all. And… the enemy, now so pompously calling themselves the 'New ISAF,' sent five planes in and they destroyed the thing!"

"What!" Angel 7 exclaimed, "They got the 'Sphynx!'"

Rhodes nodded, and went on grimly, "Yeah, and we arrived too late to do anything about it. There were just five of them, and twenty-seven of us! We engaged, but we couldn't get them! Then those Falcon and Pitch idiots showed up and took us all by surprise. But those first five guys… they were good, really damn good. Like, Seraph-good. They reminded me of them… specifically, our favorite ones. Jones, Ericks, Thatcher, and two others. Anyway, it was after that battle we were called to Belka."

Dante remembered that scuffle very well. He smirked as he thought about Rhodes conveniently leaving out how easily one of the Points of the Arrowhead had taken him out. Taking a seat between the coffee maker and the pilots, he listened more intently.

"When we came back, the ISAF had begun invading the eastern islands… you know, Fort Grey, Comona, Skully… they took 'em all before we attacked at North Point. Still, those five were there. Supposedly, I've heard, they're Sotoan mercenaries. I don't believe that bullshit though. The 'Bolt Squad'… they have to be Seraph. They knew us too well, and shot us down, the bastards."

Dante nearly laughed. How nicely Rhodes had altered this story to make it seem like the Sotoans had shot him down, and not the other Point of the Arrowhead!

"So they took North Point."

"Yep… and then they attacked the mainland. They've been pushing us back ever since. Then, you showed up," Angel 4 finished. Leanne sighed and asked, "So… we're losing. Aren't we?" "Yeah… we are…"

There was an awkward silence between four and seven, and for the first time they noticed Dante in the room near them. The two shuffled even closer together and talked in even lower voices. Scheiner could no longer hear what they were saying and so leaned precariously closer.

"Your turn Bridger," Rhodes whispered, "Where have _you_ been all this time? It's been what… two, three months since you disappeared?"

"Two months and twenty days, exactly. The reason you haven't heard from me was because I was in… hell, really. A place called Spatz Prison. When I was shot down, I landed in a forest outside the city. After being in a jet with engine noise…radio…missile alerts…the utter silence was surreal, and I felt like it was a dream. I wandered away from the crash site completely in a daze, not sure how I even survived. At some point, I started hearing voices… I tried to avoid them, but I didn't know I was surrounded. Ran straight into the muzzle of an AK-47."

Dalton's eyes widened, but he remained quiet. Dante too kept listening intently.

"I didn't get to find out who they were," Angel 7 continued, "Because as soon as they saw the FEAF decal, one smashed the stock of his rifle into the back of my head… I tell you, it took a long time to remember who I was after that, not to mention this story! When I came to, I was in a prison cell… dank, decaying, no light, windows, or fresh air… pitiful place. I had no idea what awaited me there. Day in, day out… beatings, torture, starving, the worst things you can imagine. And it wasn't just me… there were dozens of Erusian and Belkan POWs. Lord knows how long they've been there."

Angel 4 was dumbstruck. "Torture! _Beatings_!" he gasped, "How does Erusea not know about this!"

Leanne shook her head. "They did, to an extent. It's a civilian prison, so they don't care what goes on in there. They didn't know about the POWs… not until I informed them. Spatz Prison…I love just _thinking_ about what our troops are doing right now to the bastards who run the place…!"

Rhodes smirked, but Scheiner was horrified. Civilians, this woman had sent civilians, angry at _Erusea's_ war crimes, to terrible, grisly deaths. At last, Angel 2 clenched his teeth together and turned away from the conversation. He had heard enough.

"Well, how did you escape, Bridger?" Dalton asked. She sighed, readjusted in her seat, and paused thoughtfully. She spoke slowly, trying to recall every detail.

"I didn't know exactly where the prison was, plus I was unarmed and nursing some broken bones… yet I knew there was a chance – Erusea had removed some of the police in captured countries with MPs. And the whole prison was run by civilians unfamiliar with prison procedures. Every time they opened the cell, it was just one person. I took this advantage… I took a piece of metal from the toilet in the cell and spent every waking second of my time there sharpening it against the wall. Finally, when the guard came and opened the door, I rushed him with the metal. I left his body under the bed and took his gun. Couldn't believe how easy it was… only a few other unlucky guys got in my way after that. I stole some work clothes and ditched my ragged flight suit, then ran back into the forest surrounding the place. After some hours of walking, I came to the town we bombed during IFOM's retreat. I went to the MPs straight away, and told them my story. They got some Army guys to lend me one of their uniforms and get me a ride here. And that's it."

Rhodes sat back in his seat. He gazed at his wingman's scars anew, and Dante did too. "Damn… That's quite something…" Dalton muttered, "But I'm glad you're back, Leanne. You were—and are—the only Angel I can trust…" He glanced towards Angel 2, who was not looking. The coffee pot had filled by then, and Scheiner poured himself another glass. He took a sip, threw a furious last glare towards Rhodes and Bridger, and stormed briskly out of the room.

* * *

"Calm down now, calm down!"

The Comona base's commander's toothy grin betrayed his jovial mood. Mostly everyone in the New ISAF was excited; the landing operations on Usea and Osea had gone off without a hitch. Cheerful sentiments abounded about the base, especially in the sprawling briefing room where dozens of pilots were gathering, since the forces there would be right on the front lines, taking back Usea. Most delighted of all was Ericks. "Hope he doesn't up and prance around all of a sudden," Davis whispered to Aaron, who had to stifle a laugh. Indeed, James squirmed like he had been sitting for hours, when it had only been a few minutes.

"We're all eager to get out there and kick the Erusians out of our homes, so let's get things started," the commander initiated the briefing, "You'll be split into three groups: the Falcon, Pitch, and Bolt will attack Tahlone Military Base, where those… accursed Tu-200s are stationed. The Mobius, Omega, and Rapier will raid Rigley Air Base. The Vapor, Halo, and Viper will help liberate Los Canas. The Tahlone group is to report to the _Gullfaxi_ after this briefing. Groups 2 and 3 are to head to Malacia Airfield to the east of this auditorium. Now, group 1 has a long way to go to get to Tahlone, so we'll do their part first. You guys are dismissed as soon as the pertinent information has been covered.

Now… (He turned on the projection screen)… This is the layout of the base. The airfield and hangars are to the west of the main buildings here. These shelters aren't reinforced, so bunker busters will hardly be necessary. Moreover, it's likely that the Erusians will soon be conducting a bombing operation with the Vultures, possibly on our beachheads. Therefore, some will most definitely be parked on the flight line. These are your primary targets—do not let them get airborne. You will be briefed further of specifics upon your arrival at the _Gullfaxi_. Keep in mind out there… these are the very same bombers that killed hundreds of soldiers and civilians during Operation Eden. Let's get back at those bastards! Group 1, you are dismissed. Good luck!"

* * *

"Raising barriers. Aircraft one locked into track. Clear all personnel."

Twenty-three bombers total, seven on parking ramp, four sitting in front of their hangars, twelve in hangars. Twenty-three, seven, four, twelve. Aaron ran the numbers over and over in his mind. "Twenty-three bombers, twenty-three smoldering wrecks to make," he thought with a slight smirk. Looking out the Syphoner's cockpit, Bolt 1 saw a ground crewman give him the thumbs-up. Everyone was clear, and it was time to go.

* * *

"Alert, alert! Multiple bogeys inbound, intentions unclear! Scramble and intercept!"

"Roger, Wyvern Squadron will intercept."

The participating Bolt, Falcon, and Pitch pilots watched as seven X-02s lifted off from Tahlone. They all remained silent as the enemy, half their number (five pilots had to be elsewhere during the sortie, due to injuries and other unforeseen events), called out instructions to them.

"Attention unidentified aircraft, you have leaked into restricted airspace. Identify your squadron in the FEAF, retreat from this airspace immediately, or surrender and land at our base. If you fail to comply within thirty seconds, you will be fired upon, over."

Of course, Ericks couldn't stay quiet for very long. He laughed, "Aw, let's mess with these guys! Come in Wyvern Squadron, this is the 41st Tactical Fighter Squadron. That's the Seraph Squadron, over!"

"Th-the Seraph?" the lead Wyvern stuttered, "Those guys are dead!"

"We're the Ghosts of the Seraph, come back to… HAUNT YOU! Muahahahaha!"

As James roared with laughter, the ISAF jets each fired a missile. The bewildered Wyvern Squadron didn't evade in time and were all downed. This drove the workers in Tahlone's control tower completely nuts!

"The Wyvern Squad is down! Bandits are heading our way!" "Launch those bombers now! Get them out of here!"

Aaron snickered at the chaos below. "Well, you heard 'em, guys. Let's help them clear out the bombers, shall we? Bolt 1 engage!" "Woohoo! This is gonna be _fun_!"

The formation of fifteen aircraft bore down upon the base, splitting into three groups of five aircraft each. The Bolt would strike the aircraft parked on the flight line, the Falcons would hit the aircraft in front of the hangars, and the Pitches would destroy those bombers still in those shelters. Hawkeye was overseeing the raid.

"Attention Bolt pilots, the seven Vultures on the runway are attempting to take off. Shoot them down if they get airborne and destroy them on ground if not!"

"Rooo-ger, Hawkeye!" The bombers had had a significant amount of time to prepare for an escape. Several were already waiting by the runway as one was rushing down the airstrip on full afterburner. Aaron and the others hurried to keep up.

"Oh no you don't!" Squeezing the trigger, Bolt 1 popped off a missile at the nearest taxiing bomber. It smashed into the tail of the jet and exploded, stopping it in its tracks. "That's one down! Now, you guys deal with these here! Ericks, follow me after the airborne targets!"

Two bombers had lifted off and were flying in close knit formation to protect one another. Aaron and James would have to evade their crossfire to get in close enough to attack. "Bolt 2, fox 2!" The first attempt streaked towards its target, which quickly deployed chaff and flares, completely distracting the missile. "Well that didn't work. Man…" "This is gonna be harder than it looks, eh?"

The pair of dark F-25s swiveled around their prey, which proved to be putting up a grand fight. Taking occasional shots, the Bolt managed to score only a few hits. One Tu-200 was trailing smoke (having taken a missile to one of its engines) and the other had a few bullet holes. Nevertheless, both were very capable of flying on.

"Grey 1 here. I'm tired of these pesky flies. Let's get rid of them, Grey 2."

"Roger that Grey 1. Begin Phalanx fire!"

Mini-guns on the sides of the bombers spun to life and spewed thousands of rounds at the Bolt planes. They turned hard and got away just in time. However, another gun from a different angle opened fire, and the Bolt were forced farther away. This pattern repeated again and again for each attack run the two tried. The advantage belonged solely to the Vultures.

"Damn it man, we can't get in closer without being ripped apart by those damn gatling guns! What do we do, Thatcher?" "I don't know! There's no way we can approach those bastards! Unless… Ericks, go low and attract fire to you, like over the 'Sphynx!'" There was a silence on the other end, broken when James finally muttered, "No. Way. In. Hell."

Aaron sighed, and climbed anyway. His tactic was the same he used to destroy the XAM-001, to attack from above. This time it would be a bit more tricky if Bolt 2 did not distract the enemy. Thatcher hoped he would come around, but… to no avail. Ericks watched as his flight lead descended upon the bombers.

Bolt 1 throttled up, pushing the Syphoner's huge engines to their max. Topping off at around mach 2.9, he shot past the two Vultures, launching missiles at the same time. Several sailed right into the fuselage of Grey 1's Tu-200 and blew a hole clean through it. The stricken bomber imploded, breaking into several pieces and tumbling out of the heavens. Grey 2, on the other hand, had not been hit; Aaron didn't have time to target him as well. He moved to make his escape, but Ericks moved in.

"Fox 1, fox 1!"

Off went James's missile, and the unaware Erusian pilot took it straight to the engines. Without a powerplant, the jet went down. "Woowee! We got ourselves a victory, man!" Aaron heaved a sigh of relief as he decelerated. "I'm never doing that again. Let's make sure those other bastards stay on the ground, okay Ericks?"

"Heh, roger that. Let's go finish the job!"

* * *

The alarm blared throughout the base: the one alarm the pilots had not heard since the IFOM had been the enemy, and they the ISAF; not even since the Seraph had still been the best. The alarm blared on and on, an obnoxious, long, droning whooping, followed by the base commander's warning:

"This is not a drill, this is not a drill! All pilots and crews to their aircraft immediately! We are on high alert, I repeat, high alert!"

The Blue Angels and Red Devils scrambled to get into their flight suits and jets. Their Hornets and Raptors were quickly fueled up and armed. They raced out and climbed in. Engines were whining but nobody was moving. Nobody _would_ move until the attack came.

After twenty minutes under the July sun crawled by, the commander jogged out to the pilots to tell them the news. All of the planes' engines had been shut down by then. No attack was coming yet, but other places had been hit. Rigley, Los Canas, and Tahlone were under attack, and Tahlone wasn't very far from Spire by air. Spire Air Base was now on high alert because of these other air strikes. That meant pilots in planes at the ready at all times. The two stationed squadrons would take half-hour shifts, sitting out on the parking ramp waiting for the signal.

"Ugh…this is torture…" Devil 2 muttered, just loud enough for his lead to hear. The Devils had the first watch. It was a scorching 98˚F outside, and the pilots were miserable. They had been roasting out there for nearly fifteen minutes when an officer approached them.

"We're receiving the General of the Air Force soon. Get inside, change, and make yourselves presentable! He will be speaking with you all about a new…arrangement."

Grant glared at the officer. All he could think about was flipping him off, closing the canopy and flying away, never to come back to Spire. Victor knew full well what this 'arrangement' was, why Sturmoff was coming to Spire, and he hated it. But he conceded. "Think of your wingmen first," he told himself, "Those are Seraph thoughts you're having. And look what happened to them." Dejectedly Grant climbed out of his F-22. While he walked towards the hangar, Victor caught sight of a fighter jet on approach to the runway. It was a white Su-51 with red stripes on the wings and fins. The Devil knew it was definitely not a Yellow, nor could it be a Red Squadron pilot. That meant it was the man whom he hated most in the world right now.

* * *

"Let's see… Ralph Larson, Devil 2?"

"Present sir."

"Keith Nikita, Devil 3."

"Here."

Grant skimmed the room over the heads of his squadron with his eyes. General Sturmoff stood at the front of the room, calling attendance. Viktor had skipped Devil 1 intentionally so as to single him out later, and Grant knew that. Victor listened silently while the General called the names of his eleven wingmen. He was glad that none had been killed while fighting the Seraph survivors, the Bolt, but he was unsure of how many he could protect without being flight lead. He knew Viktor Sturmoff only by rumors, and hoped that his appointment as General of the Air Force was a wise one. Legend had it he was a ruthless, power-hungry man determined to become the most mighty person in the world. "Sure," Grant snorted, "That _must_ be it. He spends all his time grabbing power and none on hygiene, the dirtball!"

"Victor Grant… Red. Devil. 1." Sturmoff's voice drawled as he said the Devil lead's name and callsign. Victor didn't respond right away, as the General was expecting. Sturmoff moved his eyes from the list of pilots that he held to the small crowd assembled in front of him. He couldn't see Devil 1 behind all the other pilots. "Red Devil 1, come forward."

Grant brushed past his wingmen without a word. They moved to the side, and the General and lead saw each other fully for the first time. While the two sized each other up, Sturmoff growled, "Pick up the pace on the reply, Grant. Don't forget who you're dealing with."

Now in front of his squadron, Victor stopped just short of Sturmoff. He rubbed his eye unconcerned, and asked, "So…? What is it…_sir_?" A direct protégé of the Prime Minister, Viktor detested insubordination. But this time he reluctantly let it slide.

"You know why I'm here?" Grant nodded slowly, though barely at all. "Good. So let's make this transition easy, shall we?" Sturmoff turned to the other Devils. "Under the Minister's orders I am taking over control of this squadron. Victor Grant is no longer your flight lead."

The pilots gave a start, some yelling, others cursing. Devil 1 had not turned back around to face them or to tell them off. He could not bear to do either now.

"Settle down you all! Whether you like it or not, this is happening! From now on, I will lead you into battle, and you _will_ obey my orders… That is all I have to say to the likes of you maggots! Return to the flight line and resume your watch."

The Devils grumbled and complained as they walked back to their jets. Keith Nikita was next to Grant. "That power-tripping son of a bitch! Sir, how… what are we going to do?" Victor was too busy thinking about all that had happened to answer his wingman immediately; he was weighing his chances, wondering how it all came to be. The Seraph were mostly dead, except for the five fighting for the enemy. Angel 7 had returned, seemingly from the dead. The Devils were being blamed for the Yellows' actions. And now Sturmoff had come and taken control of his squadron. Most surprising to Grant, the only thing that encouraged him was the fact that the New ISAF was coming. Soon, the war would end, and his friends would be safe. Perhaps they could even run to the ISAF once they got close enough to Spire. Grant knew it was a thought that the Seraph had had once. But it was a good one.

"We wait, Keith. We wait. That's all."

* * *

"Hawkeye here! The last bombers have been destroyed! Mission accomplished!"

The F-25s and F-16s sped away from the smoke-cloaked military base. Their last bombs had fallen, and the Vultures were toast.

"Yeah! How's it feel to be the ones on the ground, eh! Haha!"

All were in good spirits, for they knew that the continent had become one large playground for them, now the troublesome 'Sphynx' was no more. Squadrons roved the Erusian occupied lands, annihilating anything that opposed them.

"Woohoo! ISAF one, Erusian fascists zero!" a Falcon pilot laughed. Marshall, on the other hand, did not. "Hey, watch what you say…! There _are_ Erusians here after all, on our side…" Brian looked towards the five dark Syphoners on his flank. Ericks joked with Falcon 4, "Gees Marshall, it was just fine with me… why are you so worried, are you Erusian too? Haha!"

Brian was strangely silent. Ericks noticed. "You… _are_ you Erusian…?" Marshall took a deep breath and replied, "Well, I might as well say it now. I have my story, I suppose."

Every one of the pilots had stopped talking and was listening to Brian by then. No one had expected this sudden revelation about their brother in arms. Jordan chimed in excitedly, "Well? What's the story? Huh? Huh?"

"Okay, okay," Brian began again, "Calm down there, seven! You see, twenty-one years ago… I was six then, back in 2005… my family, along with several others, took all our possessions we could and fled from Erusea… So yes, I am an Erusian. You see, my father was one of the designers of Stonehenge, and we were fleeing to an ISAF state for safety. They piled us onto this airliner, one of two. We took off, but were hit on takeoff by a fighter. The pilot accidentally crashed after shooting us, luckily. So we flew off. About midway into the flight, more Erusian fighters showed up… But then, this solo ISAF fighter appeared…a Typhoon, if I remember right. It came right on and took out ten bandits or so single-handedly! MiG-29s, Su-35s, F-18s, it was crazy. I watched the dogfights right outside my window. Long afterwards I learned that the pilot who saved us was called Mobius 1… the very best pilot in the ISAAF. I was inspired that day, to become a fighter pilot too, to become the best… I signed up for flight school some years ago, and here we are."

"Wow… so you met Mobius 1!"

"Well, not in person… Not yet. I want to, I would like to thank him."

"Hmm, you never know! It might happen one day, right, Thatcher?"

Aaron's mind was drifting, and he didn't hear Daniel. Ericks broke in, "That-cher! Bolt 2 to Bolt… **1**!"

"Whaugh!" Aaron snapped out of it. "Sorry… what?"

"You gonna answer Dan's question, man?" asked James irritably.

"Huh?"

"What were you thinking about just now, Aaron?" Richardson's voice came next.

"Wha-?"

"Weren't you just thinking about something?"

"Well…" Aaron pondered about how to reveal this to his wingmen, and how they might take it. "I guess… huh. Simply, my name's not Thatcher."

If Ericks had not been strapped into his seat, he would have fallen out of it. "What man! Haha… nice joke Thatcher… quit kidding us now, 'kay?"

Bolt 1 sighed. "Sorry Ericks, no joke. Thatcher is my mother's maiden name. My last name is Makari, not Thatcher. I just figured I'd tell you guys now."

The other pilots stirred up a ruckus, especially Ericks ("Tell us now and not before we get into harrowing situations where we could have _died_, man! I thought I knew you, but apparently not well enough!"). Richardson, on the contrary, was not surprised. "I can't say I didn't see this coming," he spoke calmly, as always, "I wondered constantly why back then at Spire they called you Thatcher and not by your real last name. And to answer your very first question Aaron, that's why I was staring at you… I knew there was something different about you. Though, why you chose to spring this on us so randomly is beyond me!"

"You mean you knew, Richardson?"

"Yes, but I never mentioned it. I figured that Aaron had a reason to keep it secret."

"Who _are_ you, Richardson! Man, how do you know so much about us, really!"

"I told you. I have my sources."

"That's… kinda creepy, man…"

Aaron laughed at how awkward the whole situation was – an Erusian ace of the New ISAF, another going by a false name, and the complete enigma who was Bolt 3. "How very weird we are," he thought to himself. Arthur was right, Aaron did have a reason to keep his name under wraps. He 'revealed' this to his wingmen as well.

"You see guys… I've been in cahoots with Richardson the whole time. I couldn't reveal my name for safety reasons, as we're both Belkan spies," he spoke in one breath. There was another awkward silence, but Aaron broke it with laughter. "C'mon! If you'll believe that then I could tell you anything! Hmm… hey Ericks, the sky is green and the ground is blue."

James laughed half-heartedly. "Very funny… So you're not a Belkan spy, good. But your name really is Makari. Just so you know, I'll get that wrong often, man."

"Fine with me, just don't mispronounce it if you do remember it."

"Gotcha Michary."

"Very funny…"

"I think so too, Mikari."

"Ericks…!"

This charade continued all the way to the _Gullfaxi_, at least until Aaron threatened to shoot James down. Ericks stopped after that.

* * *

"Drain the ballast tanks. Take us up to the surface."

"Okay, empty tanks! Let's go people, take her up!"

The enormous Yuke carrier burst out onto the surface of the water. It was the _Deinfaxi_, on a new assignment now that the airfield at Comona had been secured for operations. After Operation Fireworks, the carrier returned to Yuktobania and was remodeled to carry burst missiles again. Now its mission was not to carry the Pitch and Mobius Squadrons, but rather to attack a new target—Farbanti.

"Operation Sphinx recommencing. This is day nineteen, target is near Central Park."

The crew aboard prepared the burst missiles and scanned the waters around them. They were ensuring that the target was there and that patrolling ships were not. Already their attacks with burst missiles on the city had been interrupted on five separate occasions by enemy vessels. Today, they noticed, would be no different than those times.

"Oh hell! Captain, Erusian battleship towards our stern! Dive, dive, dive!"

At all times the crew was rigged for an emergency dive, just like they needed to perform right then. It would take them just thirty seconds to submerge and descend to a safe depth. But they would be vulnerable in that timeframe. And it just so happened that the enemy battleship had been waiting, expecting them. It increased its speed to twenty knots and steered so it would pull up beside the _Deinfaxi_.

"Ten seconds to dive! Battleship is approaching, what is it?"

"It's huge! Sonar buoy says… oh God…"

Emblazoned in capital letters five feet high on the bow of the warship was its name. _Hypatia_.

"Tanager-class! It's a Tanager-class battleship!"

"Dear God… they're coming right for us!"

"Diving! Diving! Get as far down as we can!"

The stern of the _Deinfaxi_ dipped beneath the waves just as the _Hypatia_ came alongside. It increased speed even more and turned left, over the path of the Yuke carrier underneath it. No less than a dozen depth charges rolled off the deck, plunging into the cold, blue water. They sank quickly, bouncing off the sides of their target, and detonated. Everyone aboard was thrown down, knocked off their feet by the violent explosions.

"Damn it! We're hit, status reports!"

"We're going back up! The ballast tanks have been damaged!"

Once more the carrier burst out into the open air, this time with the _Hypatia_ right along side it. The crew discovered, to their horror, that the stories of a railgun turret on the Erusian craft were true. And that cannon was pointing directly at the bridge of the carrier.

"Captain-!"

"What can we do!"

The frantic cries of the Yuke crew were silenced by a broadcast from the enemy battleship's loudspeakers: "Attention, New ISAF vessel! Surrender at once and be boarded or else be destroyed at once! Reply!"

Nobody aboard the _Deinfaxi_ moved. Some were still on the floor. All eyes were directed towards the ship's captain. "Send… send word to them. We surrender… there's nothing we can do but hope for the best."

Still no one budged. Each and every eye staring at the captain was open wide in shock. It was over. It was over?

"Repeat, surrender and you will not be harmed. Fight and you will all drown! This is your final warning!"

At last the ship's communications officer reacted, delivering the message to the enemy. The _Hypatia_'s speaker seemed satisfied. "A wise choice. All of you will be detained according to the Contia Convention. Your vessel now belongs to Free Erusea!"

* * *

"So, you need my ship's assistance."

"Yes sir. Deh battleship vill be deh perfect instrument vith vhich to kill deh aces dat plague us."

The Minister peered sternly at his Belkan associate. This foreign Army general had come to Farbanti to request another favor from the Prime Minister of Erusea. Several Osean aces had been spearheading the Osean liberation—the Razgriz and the Maelstrom. Hoping to eliminate these pillars of moral for the Osean Army, the Belkans were asking that a certain Tanager-class battleship ambush these aces over Aurick Bay when possible.

"The flagship of my Tanager class is hardly something I just lend to someone, general."

"I understand dat, sir. Vee promise dat deh _Hypatia_ vill be returned in perfect condition, once deh Osean aces are dead."

The Prime Minister leaned back in his chair. He had already lent the Blue Angels to the Belkans before, and that endeavor hadn't worked very well. On the other hand, if the _Hypatia_ could kill those troublesome aces, then perhaps the BAF could gain air superiority and force back the Oseans—something that would prove invaluable to his own troops' morale and efforts. The possible rewards proved too great and outweighed the drawbacks in the Minister's mind.

"So… I will send the _Hypatia_ secretly to North Wocken, and then to Aurick Bay, to kill these pilots. Hmm… I think, Operation… 'Turkey Shoot' would be a fitting name for this effort, no?"

The Belkan general was laughing when there was a knock on the Minister's door. It was his secretary.

"Prime Minister, sir! A report from the Navy!"

The Minister opened the door and looked at his secretary. "What about?"

"The battleship _Hypatia_ has captured the enemy ship that has been launching burst missiles at our city! They have the crew detained and the ship interned at the port. It's a Yuke submarine-carrier, sir!"

The Minister smiled, and walked over to his desk. "Send word to Colonel Andre Kilroy at Megafloat's construction site. Tell him, I've got another one of Sturmoff's suggestions for him…"

The secretary nodded and set to work. The Minister chuckled, "Ten missiles, that'll leave room for the next addition to the XAM-100. One hundred nuclear warheads, Stonehenge turrets for aircraft, and now Yuke burst missiles for the rest… The defense of my pride and joy has been secured… Now general, where were we?"


	21. Chapter 21: The Day the Dead Walked

* * *

"These are the two…that stand before the…earth. If anyone wants to harm them, fire comes out of their mouths and devours their enemies. In this way, anyone wanting to harm them is sure to be slain. They have the power to close up the sky so that no rain can fall…They also have the power to turn water into blood and to afflict the earth with any plague as often as they wish." – Revelation, Ch. 11: 4-6

* * *

"Air traffic control, this is Maelstrom flight, we're out about twenty miles, on approach."

"Roger Maelstrom flight. We've got you on radar, bring 'em in."

"All right. Metzger, call the ball. You're up first," Storm 1 directed his wingman. "R-right." Storm 1 glanced over at eight's F-14X. It wasn't flying quite so steadily as the others. Their sortie had been a nerve-wracking one over the Munition Line. Thick flak had filled the sky, even blotting out the sun during the attack on the position, and so it had been hard to see what were clouds and what wasn't. Alaeith had nearly been hit at least thirty times.

"Hey Metzger… you all right, buddy?"

"Yes s-sir. Just a little sh-sh-shook up."

"Too much excitement for one day, eh? Well, let's get home for some rest, shall we?"

The Sabrecat formation came within visual range of the carrier. To their dismay, they noticed a gray dot on the navy blue ocean surface heading for the _Lethe_.

"Uh, Storm 1 to _Lethe_, you weren't scheduled for an escort today, were you?"

"Negative Storm 1. We see it too, a big radar return and even bigger on sonar. That thing must be going really fast. Ten miles out and closing, with no response to our signals. Orders are to assume it is hostile and sink it."

"Wilco. We're out of anti-ship armament, so I'll be sending Storms 3 through 6 back to refuel and rearm. The rest of us will identify the vessel, over."

The F-14s each turned for a ship. Anthony led his detachment towards the potentially hostile warship. "Looks like some more fun for today," one pilot grumbled. As they came closer to it, the pilots realized the target was a battleship, larger than anything the Belkans had built. There were three turrets, and the massive one on the stern of the ship was slowly turning towards the _Lethe_. At this agonizing moment, the Storms recognized the vessel below them was a battleship they had only heard rumors and horror stories about from the ISAF and Yukes – the _Hypatia_.

"NO! The _Hy_-!"

There was no sound, no flash, when the railgun's round discharged; only shockwaves sent through the ship and surrounding water, only the shrieking and moaning of the _Lethe_'s steel being shredded as the Stahlhagel shell tore through the carrier. The ship had been hit in the middle, and the stern and bow broke apart. Each lifted slowly, highly into the air, before slipping silently beneath the waves.

"No! All those people-!"

The Maelstrom pilots glared at the small plume of smoke that had been their home. None had been able to land, and so they were all in a deadly predicament: they were burning their fuel reserves, they had no AG weaponry, and they couldn't escape without being picked off easily by the _Hypatia_'s railgun. Their only choice was to fight, and that was exactly what the Erusians aboard the lethal warship wanted.

Quickly regaining confidence, Radcliff barked the command to regroup at his wingmen. The two forward turrets on the _Hypatia_ hoisted themselves into the misty sea air at an incredible angle and cloaked the skies with flak as the F-14s rendezvoused far above. "Damn, not flak again!" The pilots looked towards the dark storm clouds over their heads and then the black puffs of smoke from the exploding shells below. "Climb! Go, go, go!" roared the Maelstrom lead. The eight jets faded into the storm; they were out of sight, but still on radar.

This time the railgun reacted. A Stahlregen shell was hefted into the barrel and aimed by the ever-watching Sonnatrac Radar aboard the _Hypatia_. It discharged from the cannon and impaled its target, the trailing Sabrecat. There was no sound from the gun; a silent eulogy for the two men in the shredded plane. None of the other pilots noticed their loss, as they had already begun diving back through the cloud covering for a counterattack. They were gleefully greeted met by the inescapable bursting of lethal shrapnel.

"Shit! We can't fly through this! Split up, weave, and strafe the bastards!" came Storm 1's command. Metzger rolled and headed for the water, while others held their altitudes. Skimming low over the waves, Alaeith avoided the flak (It was a technique he often employed). His wingmen, on the other hand, were not so fortunate.

"This Storm 5, I'm hit by flak! Bailing out, bailing – AAAH!!!"

Static. Static that meant two more of Storm 8's friends were gone. Another voice frantically chimed in over the radio, "Hit by AA! Our left engine's flamed out, we're in a flat spin! I… I can't… r-reach the ejection… h… h-handle…! Damn it… all!" Appalled, Metzger watched the stricken F-14 come to an abrupt stop in the water. Already, six of his trusted comrades were gone forever.

Frustration was affecting all of the surviving Maelstrom. The _Hypatia_'s armor was far too thick for bullets to penetrate or AA missiles to do much damage. Worse yet, another Sabrecat suddenly crashed; its pilot, mistaking flak for clouds, dived right into the bay. The Maelstrom Squadron had been halved.

Unexpectedly, one of the _Hypatia_'s turrets ceased firing, and the flak lightened slightly. The three barrels rose to their greatest extent and stalled. Anthony's RIO gawked at this oddity and muttered, "What the hell are they doing? Are they out of shells?" "They might just be conserving them! Keep up your guard." "Roger," Radcliff replied, "Good thinking Steph. They're probably preparing something else for us. Be ready for-"

During the mere seconds that Storm 1 had taken to advise his wingmen, the _Hypatia_'s railgun had pivoted and fired at its target, his aircraft. The Sabrecat was blown clean in two. Anthony never finished his sentence. No longer attached to its engines, the front section of the F-14 tumbled through the fog to the icy blue water waiting below. Even as he was jolted around in the cockpit, Anthony smiled and said calmly, "Damn, they got us… Take care, Metzger, Banks…" He couldn't have ejected because of the G forces, and he did not.

It was now that the _Hypatia _unveiled its scheme. As Storm 2 flew in to hit the ship again, the raised turret fired a canister into the air. It burst into a steel rain of mini-bomblets that impacted the F-14 as they fell. The jet erupted in a fireball, and the pilots aboard it never suspected such a ploy. There were just two Maelstrom planes left.

"Oh…oh my God… I can't… b-believe…! Alaeith, we've g-got to do something or w-w-we'll die too!" Stephanie yelled fearfully over the radio. She turned towards the battleship as another canister was fired. Rolling, she avoided the bombs that fell. However, the _Hypatia_ was waiting with another Stahlregen shell. Banks's entire left wing was shorn off by the projectile.

"Oh shit! Shit, shit, _shit_!" To avoid rolling out of control, Storm 3 increased speed. The right wing and what remained of the left folded back, stabilizing the Sabrecat somewhat. Still, both pilots knew her aircraft was finished. Billowing smoke and using afterburners with no fuel, the F-14X arced back towards the _Hypatia_. Banks pushed the throttle completely forward and told Storm 8, "It's useless to eject here! They'll just pick us up and kill us… No way I'd go for that! See you Metzger, it's been fun…Take care of these bastards for me, okay Metzger? I'm going out with a bang, and you should too…"

With those final words, she aimed her craft at the _Hypatia_. Even as both engines eventually shorted out, she held the controls steady, smashing straight into the vessel with no heed to the flak and AAA. An immense explosion ripped through the ship's armor, shot through the battleship, and erupted out the other side. Orange flames licked the gray steel around the impact area. The _Hypatia_ listed heavily as a deluge of water rushed into the gaping hole in the hull. The flak had completely stopped. Banks had gone out with the biggest bang possible.

Storm 8 gazed at this scene, unable—_unwilling_—to take it all in. It was all suddenly very quiet. He realized that there were bullet holes in the canopy causing air to rush in. Looking back, he discovered that his RIO, too, was dead. Everything hit Alaeith at once. He was alone. The enemy had killed everyone close to him. He still might die, if he did not act. He would act… he would act right now! Terror gave way to rage. Apprehension became determination. Nothing could stop him now.

The lone Sabrecat dived on the wounded ship. He had nothing left but AA missiles, yet that would be enough. Metzger deployed a few Phoenixes, letting them sail into the fiery fissure. The fresh explosions tore the nearest turret loose from its fetters, and the heavy metal slid down the slanted deck into the sea. A ripple was all that was left of those abhorred eighteen-inch guns after a few seconds. The vessel was soon to follow. The _Hypatia_, after spewing a towering plume of thick, black smoke, capsized and filled with water. The gray sides and red bottom of the warship quickly vanished under the waves.

The most feared battleship the world over was no more than flotsam and dross now.

"Repeat, attention, attention… if you can hear this, respond please."

Alaeith looked at his radio. It was still on the same frequency. Presumably the voice that had spoken was Osean, was friendly.

"Come in Maelstrom, repeat… report your position, Maelstrom… are there any survivors?" The signal was getting weaker, as if the transmitter was getting farther away. Metzger gave a start and shouted, "This is Storm 8! Maelstrom 8, over!"

The voice replied, sounding both surprised and relieved, "Roger Storm 8! This is the destroyer _Lacera_. Give us your position, over."

"I don't know where I am! I've got no fuel, no RIO, no squa—er… I'll have to bail out soon!"

"Roger Storm 8. Stay where you are and activate your homing beacon. We'll come pick you up. Were their any other survivors?"

Alaeith didn't answer the final question. He could not bring himself to admit that they were all gone. Without a second thought about replying, he tugged the eject handle and rocketed out of the F-14X, gliding gently to the gray water beneath him.

He tore off his helmet, ruffled his dirty blonde hair with his free hand, and began to cry. The last time he would ever cry until the very day he died.

* * *

It's been four years since that day we arrived at Spire. And now, November 3rd, we're going back—Ericks, Richardson, Barr, Davis, and me. But this time it's not to train. We're not returning as friends, nor as Seraph.

We are the Bolt Squadron. And we are going to destroy Spire Air Base.

Unlike so many times before, neither the Falcon nor the Pitch is going to be helping us. This time it'll be the rest of the 98th Fighter Wing, two Sotoan squadrons. That's who we are, after all… not Erusians, not ISAF, but mercenaries. We have no ties to the squadrons now stationed at Spire, the Devils and the Angels. That's what Commander Mattock has told us, and that's the story we go by.

This is our final mission as part of Operation Asphyxiation. We obliterated Tahlone and the Vultures; we knocked Nemitas out of commission; we liberated New Leonshire City and even San Salvacion; now, standing at Erusea's door, we will strike deep—and strike hard—at the place that trained us, our home for so many years. This mission will clear the skies for close air support aircraft assisting our troops now preparing to invade Erusea.

Free Erusea… prepare to be free no longer.

* * *

"This is Aughim, you have entered Erusian airspace. Fifteen minutes until target, at current speed."

I take a quick look around. This formation is rather strong; there are the five of us, four pilots in the 'Laikzwind Squadron,' and six planes of the 'Geseivell Squadron.' Aughim is our AWACS. Just to give you an idea of these guys, the Laikzwind is the 3rd TFS of the Sotoan Royal Air Force. They've been around since 2001, and they _really_ know their stuff. Why… they're even flying F-14Ds (entirely black but with some blue stripes on the wings, fins, and noses) in this day and age, instead of the new model F-14X! The Super Tomcat isn't exactly super anymore, but these guys' skills can make up for it! I bet… if we were both flying the same type of planes in a dogfight… I'd go down pretty quickly. The Geseivell, on the other hand, is a newer squadron, established in 2012. They're flying Su-37s, F-22s, and F-15S/MTDs.

"So man, why the Tomcats and not Sabrecats?" Ericks finally spoke up! He's been quiet the entire way here, it was a miracle… The Laikzwind leader, a man by the name of Anton Semenov, responds, "The Laikzwind fly the aircraft they've always flown. Tomcats, they are familiar with the F-14A and D, but the X… they don't need it."

"Uh huh… right. Why the third person, man?"

"Semenov does not understand your question…"

I laugh out loud at the two of them going back and forth. After all this seriousness and silence, it feels good to relax a bit. "Okay then Semenov, what do your squadron names mean?"

Suddenly the silence returns. I know I've crossed a line… We're supposed to be Sotoans ourselves, and these men were told that we are. Yet here I go asking for a translation of a language I'm supposed to understand! Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ Aaron…

Finally Anton talks again. It seems he's so confused that he's stopped using third person. "I wonder if you are… no, never mind. Which squadron in the SRAF do you five hail from again?"

"Uh…" I stutter a bit, but fortunately Richardson answers for me. "It's the newest one, being formed right now. We don't have an official name yet."

To my surprise, Semenov chuckles! "Well then, it's no wonder I have never met you in the skies before. As for our names… I guess you could be confused, for some incorrect grammar was incorporated in the names."

"Yeah… that's it," I mumble sheepishly. He continues right on, "Laikzwind is loosely translated as 'Razor Wind,' and our callsigns, Zwind 1 and so on, mean 'Wind.' Geseivell means 'Tidal Wave,' and the callsigns start with Vell, 'Wave.' I am Wind 1 and Cyprus (the Geseivell lead, I was told) is Wave 1. Our AWACS is called Sky Eye in this language. Oh, and the third person thing…"

Another of the Laikzwind pilots interrupts Anton, joking, "He talks like that because it makes him sound all _serious_ and _cool_…!" Zwind 1 laughs again, and then states, "Yes, my brother Nion has it right. Though he could have put it more nicely than that…"

Ericks laughs right along with the Sotoans. "I like you guys," he snickers, "Even if you do talk funny!"

While I was listening to all this, I realized all my focus had gone out the window. Even though this battle would be tough, even though I'd be firing at old friends, even though I'd be attacking my old stomping grounds, even though-

"Five minutes to target. Twelve bandits have launched and are heading your way. Weapons hot, cleared to engage any and all fighters!"

* * *

"This is General Sturmoff. I'm in command of you all up here, got it Devils? Address me as Star 7. Captain Rhodes, I trust I can have you deal with the ten other bandits? We'll take the Bolt Squadron on, over."

Angel 4 scoffed. "Fuck you, Sturmoff. I attack what I want. Angels, engage! Full throttle, now!"

"Why you little-!!" Viktor's curse fell on deaf ears; the Blue Angels were already accelerating towards the enemy formation. "Fine then, bastard! Devils, ascend to angels ten and prepare to attack from above!" The twelve F-22s climbed, following the red and white Su-51.

* * *

Aaron readied. He knew that the Devils were up too, there were far more than just twelve bandits airborne. Now, where were they?

"Bolt Squadron, follow me to angels thirteen. If anything, I remember that the Devils like to dive."

Leaving the ten other Sotoans to deal with the Angels, the five Bolt F-25s ascended through the cloud level to thirteen thousand feet. There, ahead of them, was the formation they were looking for. Thirteen jets, all Raptors. No… one was a Night Raven, Makari noticed. Who in the Red Devils flew a Sukhoi? Well, he was going to find out soon enough.

"Bolt 1 to all planes, there they are. Engage and destroy them all." "Roger that man! I'll—whoa!" "What?! What is it?!" "The Sotoans, man… They just got, like, half the Angels in one pass…" "Gees… Let's see if we can do that!"

Before they even approached, however, the Devils split up. Eleven dived down at the Sotoans, and two, an F-22 and the Su-51, came straight for the Bolt. Realizing that this meant the mercenaries below were outnumbered, Aaron sent Barr and Davis down to assist them. The other three Bolt passed the two bandits and turned towards them again. To their surprise, two more fighters had joined them by then, F/A-18s.

"One Devil, two Angels, and some other guy," Ericks snorted, "This won't be hard."

The two groups of fighters passed each other once more. The Bolt got a good look at the opposition's jets. One, the Raptor, was Grant's. One of the Hornets belonged to Rhodes. The other F-18, though, had the callsign…

"Blue Angel 7?! Leanne Bridger?! She's dead… Marshall killed her, right?!" A feminine voice laughed over the radio at Aaron, "Silly little Seraph, you're not the only one back from the dead… This dead woman walking is going to send you back, however…"

The two Angels split from the others and shot off two long range missiles each at the Bolt. "Scatter, guys!" All four missiles were evaded, but now the bandits were close enough for guns. "Firing!" Both of the Hornets focused on Aaron, pumping bullets into his jet along the fuselage. The Syphoner faltered for a brief moment, but kept flying.

"Bolt 1 here, I've taken some damage. Nothing I can't handle though."

An unknown voice spoke next, filled with an uncanny sense of power, "That's good, Aaron. It would be bad for you to die and never to meet me."

It was the pilot of the Su-51. Makari asked, "And why's that? Who are you?"

"The callsign's Star 7. I am General Viktor Sturmoff, the new leader of the Red Devils."

"Ooh… a general, man? And Star 7… great, there's more people like you, then?" Ericks laughed at the man. The man retorted, "There will be, unfortunately for you… I happen to prefer the number seven over one."

Viktor Sturmoff was clearly a character… only Richardson could remember having heard the name before (Though Grant had briefly mentioned him in his tirade over Comona months ago). "General is it? Then… I would be right in assuming you are General of the Air Force Viktor Sturmoff?"

Aaron and James were amazed. The top general of the FEAF in the air, dogfighting them? How stupid could he be?

"You'd be very correct, Seraph Ghost. That's right, I've been told who you all are. Which number are you? And where is Jones? I was told he'd be up here too, what a disappointment."

Makari gritted his teeth at the mention of his old flight lead. Trembling with anger, Aaron threw the throttle forward, yelling at Star 7 as he chased him down, "He's a crater right now thanks to your orders, bastard!! Fox 3!!"

The missile leapt at the Night Raven, missing it for a flare at the last second. Sturmoff cackled as he maneuvered out of the way. From what he could see, Aaron could tell Viktor was a good pilot. Out of almost nowhere, the Angels returned and opened fire on Bolt 1 again. He swerved to avoid their shots and chased after Star 7 again.

"I've got this bastard! Ericks, Rich, get the Angels!" Makari had forgotten about the fourth enemy plane in the air with them, Devil 1. However, Victor was not engaging the Bolt, seemingly dissatisfied about something. Sturmoff snapped at him, "Hurry up and get on with it, Devil 1! You're wasting my fuel by just drifting around doing nothing!" Somewhat regretfully, Victor turned and followed Aaron at a distance, well out of range of anything but AMRAAMs. Satisfied, Sturmoff turned his attention back to Makari.

"Come on then, Thatcher! Let's see what our training's done for you! Fox 1!"

Flipping his Syphoner over and diving, Bolt 1 avoided the missile, then fired his own shot towards Viktor. The Sukhoi barrel-rolled around it, throwing off the lock. Aaron shot past him and the two Angels. It seemed that Ericks was engaging Rhodes and Richardson was engaging Bridger. Makari still couldn't believe she was still alive, yet there she was! He shook the confusion out of his head, refocusing on shooting down Sturmoff. Increasing his speed, he chased after the Su-51, which was going vertical. The Syphoner's altimeter read twenty thousand feet, but surely the Night Raven was even farther up than that. How high could it go before stalling? Behind him, Victor slowly pitched up too. How high could _he_ go?

Aaron had his answer in seconds. When his own jet reached thirty-five thousand feet, the Sukhoi, far above him, seemed to slow down to a stop and hover in midair. Gradually it fell backwards, tumbling through the air. However, Sturmoff steadied the stall quickly and was coming at Bolt 1. Makari reacted fast, pulling out of his climb, just as Viktor launched a missile his way. The projectile missed by just feet, and the fight continued. Star 7 kept diving, and now Aaron pulled onto his tail. Firing an AMRAAM, he watched as it shot towards the Su-51.

The jet pitched up suddenly in a Cobra (though the craft had been going vertical, so it pulled up to horizontal) and accelerated away, leaving the missile to miss entirely. Bolt 1 was now over Sturmoff's jet, and he opened fire with the Vulcan cannon. Bullets spewed out, tearing into the fuselage of the Sukhoi. By then Grant had reappeared. "Devil 1, fox 2."

"Aw crap!"

Aaron veered right, away from the bandits. Victor didn't follow right away, and Viktor noticed. "Damn it, Devil 1! Stay on him! Why aren't you fighting at your best?!" Grant's automatic, sarcastic response infuriated Sturmoff even more. "Why, I'm under your command, Sturmoff. I can't do anything without your orders." Cursing Grant's rebellious nature, Viktor gave up trying to make him pursue Makari and went after him himself.

Having arced around, Aaron was attacking head on, and fired a missile at the Sukhoi and Raptor each. He called out jokingly to Grant, "Come on, Devil 1! This is fun, join in!"

The dejected ex-lead chuckled a little, but kept on with his half-hearted attacks, much to Sturmoff's vexation. Whatever was bothering him, Aaron figured, it was bothering him a lot. He concluded that Sturmoff was the cause of it all, having taken over the Red Devils, and so he decided to 'eliminate the cause of Grant's anxiety.'

"Well Sturmoff—sorry! _General_ Sturmoff, you've got a meeting with the reaper… I've met him, because of your order on May 14th. Pretty nice guy. I'm sure you'll like him… Fox 2!"

Grunting and turning hard, Star 7 barely avoided the shot. He veered into Aaron's path, firing his machine gun, but Bolt 1 barrel-rolled over him. Grant zipped past Sturmoff's jet, disrupting its airflow and causing it to stall. "Damn it, Grant! Watch out, you bastard!" Devil 1 simply laughed as Viktor struggled to regain control. By then, Makari had evaded Grant and found Sturmoff again. "This is too easy… fox 1!"

The Sidewinder popped out of the Syphoner's side weapon bay and rocketed off after the buffeting Su-51. Sturmoff righted his jet just in time to… notice the missile coming and be able to do nothing else.

"Splash one! Darn, looks like he bailed out," Makari laughed at his foe. Red Devil 1 was circling above him, apparently observing Star 7's defeat. Aaron looked and laughed again, for he had seen that there was a mysterious lack of fighters in the air. The Blue Angels and Red Devils had disappeared; though there were several burning wreckages in the forest below. There were some aircraft over Spire itself, and explosions going off every now and then. "Damn… Those guys are really efficient…!" Aaron observed. He called to the Devil above him, "Hey Grant! Better go help your wingmen! Looks like they ran into a few Sotoan mercs!"

No sooner had Makari said 'Sotoan' did Victor race off to assist his friends. Aaron snickered while he ascended to see what had become of the Angels. The two Hornets, it seemed, were still duking it out with Ericks and Arthur at angels ten. They had to be Dalton and Leanne, Aaron understood, or else they would have been shot down already. Only those two could fly well enough together to keep pace with a Bolt pilot.

"Bolt 1 to Bolt 2 and 3. How's it been going up here?"

"Gah! Aaron! About damn time, man! Take over for Rich, would ya? He's outta missiles!"

"Yes I am. I shall return to base. Aaron, Ericks, good luck."

That cold, confident voice of Rhodes called to the Bolt, "You'll need it alright. We're going to kill you two for what happened over the 'Sphynx.' For what happened over Leonshire. Hell, for just being Seraph and being alive!!"

Rather than be intimidated, Aaron chuckled. He replied sweetly, "Ah, I missed that nice, serenading voice of your, Rhodes… Please, don't stop talking… haha!" Unable to come up with a suitable retort, the insulted Angel simply resigned himself to stop talking and act. He formed up with Bridger and came head on.

"Here they come, man. You ready for a little two on two, Aaron?"

"You bet your sweet ASRAAM I am!"

"Haha! What? You crack me up, man…"

Unfortunately the Angels were not in as good moods as Aaron and James. They accelerated towards the two F-25s, rolling and diving just before getting hit by the missiles the Bolt had just launched. They rolled again and pitched up, attacking just as the Bolt began to dive at them.

"Oh crap, look out!"

The Hornets shot past, guns ablaze. Ericks gawked at them. "They've been firing those things the whole fight, man! Barely used any missiles! Are they ever gonna run out of bullets?!" Fortunately for James's nerves, it seemed that Bridger had. "Angel 7, winchester on 20mm."

"Roger that, seven. Let's go for attack 2… E!"

At once Dalton accelerated away towards the east. Bridger, on the other hand, let the Bolt slip onto her tail. "See if you can hit me, Seraph…" she cooed tauntingly. Ericks was ready to take her on, but Aaron was cautious. He kept a watchful eye on the Angel in front of him and the other on the radar screen. What was Rhodes doing? Faster, faster… He was at mach 2 and turning towards them. Though he was far away, he was on their tails. Leanne was a distraction.

Makari wasn't ready just yet to evade the imminent attack from behind him. He could get Bridger right here and now.

"Ericks! Break off and follow Rhodes! I'll take her down!"

"Got ya, man!"

Bolt 2 separated and increased his speed to try and get on Dalton's tail. Meanwhile, the Angel came ever closer, and Bridger was going ever slower. Just a few more seconds and Rhodes would be in range… five… four… three…

"Silly little Seraph… never follow an Angel!"

The Hornet pitched its nose up vertical, and ascended slowly. Aaron knew this move, a Cobra Strike. And he knew how to counter this whole attack strategy.

"Angel 4, fox 1!"

Right then, Aaron pulled back on the stick hard. He flipped the Syphoner up in a semicircle move, bringing Angel 7 into his sights and completely dodging Angel 4 and his missile. As Dalton shot past beneath him, Aaron fired another Sidewinder and called, "Bolt 1, fox 3!" Shrieking away, the projectile slammed into the Killer Hornet's rear and exploded. Leanne bailed out immediately.

"Damn it! Angel 7 to Angel 4, I've been—look out!!"

In a flash, Aaron saw Ericks zoom past him as well and fire at Rhodes. The missile, accompanied by some bullets, sailed into Dalton's plane and detonated, engulfing it in flames. He too, punched out. The two victorious Bolt pilots couldn't stop laughing at the small figures below them, apparently shaking their fists and making obscene gestures too far away to make out.

Bolt 2 rejoined Aaron and the two headed towards Spire, leaving the Angels and others to enjoy a nice float to the ground. Arriving, they found the hangars bombed out, the runway destroyed, and the Sotoan planes finishing off the control tower. Spire wouldn't be launching or receiving any aircraft any time soon.

"Hey guys! Bolt 4 here to Bolt 1! You missed it, man, we toasted 'em! These guys are amazing!"

The Sotoans all chuckled modestly at Daniel's praise. They had been the ones who had done all the work: shooting down ten of the Angels and ten Devils. Bolt 4 and 5 had gotten just one Angel each. Also, the Geseivell were the ones with air-to-ground weapons, and they finished off Spire. The Sotoans deserved every word of Barr's praise. Zwind 1 proudly stated in response to the acclamation, "That's what Semenov is here for, gentlemen. You can't beat sheer skill, and that's true always. My good friend, the Black Angel, taught me that long ago…"


	22. Chapter 22: Apex of the Nadir

* * *

"He held seven stars in his right hand and a sharp double-bladed sword…at his feet." – Revelation, Ch. 1: 16

* * *

Phew. The last few days have seen one hectic scramble here in Eiferstad. Resetting up the North Point government, choosing and prioritizing targets for the military, dealing with the flowing volumes of paperwork so liberally inundating my in-tray, even avoiding a few assassination attempts! So few people really, _truly_ know what the title 'Commander' entails.

But somehow we all survived the last week. It's November 16th now, and the next stage of our battleplan is beginning. Usea has been all but recaptured; only Erusea remains to be captured. Therefore, we are retiring Operation Asphyxiation as a greatly successful undertaking. Thus begins Operation Sever, our strikes at the very veins that pump blood into Erusea's war machine. If we're to force a surrender from such a determined enemy, we must eliminate everything that they could use to prolong this war. Huh… That statement alone incorporates so many things that the word 'everything' doesn't really cover it.

Let me give you some examples: the Tanager-class battleships, those two that remain, must be sunk so the Yuktobanian Navy can effectively deal with the Erusian Navy (I did hear that the Oseans sunk the _Hypatia_; let me tell you, you have no idea how much we celebrated that day). The Erusian industrial city of Jhove must be bombed so as to stop production of war assets. The line of defense recently set up in Whiskey Corridor must be broken through. We have to find the six turrets of Stonehenge that have gone missing, and that's urgent. Not to mention a million other little and big things.

So I hope you understand that I must excuse myself to get back to work. There's quite a lot of it… Last week was hell, and this week's looking no better. I can't wait to go on vacation, believe you me.

* * *

"Your attention pilots. The situation is critical. An enemy Tanager-class battleship, the _Orkan_, was blockaded nine days ago at a port in South Wocken."

The assembled pilots, from Bolt Squadron, Molniya Squadron, Halo Squadron, and Buran Squadron, listened intently to the base commander give out the latest news in their briefing. The Bolt, after their successful raid on Spire, had returned to their stationed base and were contently waiting for their next sortie.

"The ship's heavy firepower aided it in breaking out of the port, however. As it headed for its home port in Erusea, Varther Harbor, a fleet of Yuktobanian and ISANF vessels attacked it, crippling its rudder but doing little else. The _Orkan_ began to drift steadily away from the harbor and we moved in for the kill. Unfortunately, before we could finish the ship off, its sister battleship, the _Tanager II_, arrived and forced our fleet to retreat. We failed to sink the enemy battleship, which was towed to the harbor, and we lost seven ships to enemy fire, including our flagship, the _Cuspis_."

The projection screen behind the colonel turned on, displaying an aerial view of Varther Harbor, no doubt taken by an SI-96. There was a massive dock occupied by an equally large battleship, one that dwarved the tugboats and destroyers parked around it. Spanning the width of the ship was a tall and massive steel construction, a gantry for workers. The warship was billowing smoke from its aft decks, obscuring some of the picture. Cranes and vehicles nearby meant work was progressing on repairs.

"_That_," the base commander continued, "is the _Orkan_. Repairs are going on right now, though somewhat slowly due to a lack of a dry dock in Harbor. Luckily enough for us, the _Tanager II_ has already departed from port, leaving its sister ship vulnerable. Now, I'm sure you all know what we've got to do."

The display changed to an image of the entire port. Several key targets were pointed out by red dots and named. The biggest dot, of course, was the battleship _Orkan_.

"We will begin the assault here, raiding the shipyard facilities and vessels. Buran, that's your job. None of you others is to waste a single bomb on anything else other than that damned Tanager-class, understand? (The pilots nodded) Good. The destruction of the _Orkan_ is crucial to Operation Sever's success. The less of these battleships there are out there, the easier it will be to blockade Farbanti. Remember that out there. Sink the _Orkan_ and then use any leftover ammunition to finish off any ships that escape the harbor. Any questions?"

One of the Yuke aviators raised her hand. "Where has the _Tanager II_ gone?"

The colonel thought about it for awhile, taking too long to answer. The pilots knew he had no idea. "You shouldn't worry about it. We'll find it and destroy it eventually. Any other questions?"

No more of the pilots lifted their hands. The base commander smiled and finished, "Alright. The _Nazianz_ and the _Hypatia_ are already on the bottom of the ocean. Let's send the _Orkan_ down to keep them company! Dismissed!"

* * *

"AWACS Doppler to all pilots. Varther Harbor is due north. Buran Squadron, separate and begin your attack. All other planes, continue on vector 0-2-7 to the _Orkan_. Cleared to engage any and all targets, over."

There was no need for the AWACS to tell them where the battleship was; all could clearly see the smoke pouring from still raging fires, not to mention the large gantry. The eight Buran Tornadoes rolled and dived upon the facilities below while the twenty-four others headed for the _Orkan_. It was a large formation for just one target, but, considering what the ISAF heard about the battle over Aurick Bay, they were taking no chances.

"Halo 10 to Bolt 1. Halo Squadron will ascend to angels fifteen and dive bomb the target, over."

"Roger Halo 10. All units, hold back until run is complete."

Aaron watched the twelve F-15Es pull up. As they were climbing, a shrill air raid siren started up, blaring its message of warning to all soldiers in the vicinity: an attack, you are under attack. About a minute later the first bombs rained down upon the damaged Tanager-class, some striking close by but none landing a direct hit. Two of the later-dropped bombs fell right next to the ship, yet dealt no noticeable damage.

"We need a direct hit to sink this thing, near misses won't cut it. Molniya commencing attack run."

As the seven Typhoons of Molniya Squadron descended to hit the vessel at low altitude, AA guns in the nearby municipal area opened fire. The Yukes had to break off their assault or get hit by the AAA.

"Well! Low altitude is out of the question. Look at all of 'em on the tops of those buildings! Any more ideas?"

"Get Buran Squadron over here to sweep up the AA guns, over."

With a quick call the Buran were on their way. The raid could continue soon enough. But first…

"AWACS Doppler to all aircraft. Nine inbound bandits from the west. Vector 2-8-0, over."

"Roger that. Bolt 3 to Halo, four of you join us. Aaron, let's fly out to meet them and keep them away from the attackers."

Good idea Rich. Let's do it, folks!"

The nine ISAAF jets flew west to meet the nine enemy jets. Coming into visual range, Halo 10, Theodore Ziven, noticed they were Su-35s.

"Super Flankers, looks like White Squad. They might give us some trouble."

"Yeah right, man! Bolt 2, AMRAAMs away!"

Aaron looked and saw two bandits go down ("See?! Piece of cake!"), then realized the nine bandits had launched long-range missiles too.

"Incoming! Evade, evade!"

Eight aircraft dove out of the way in time, but Halo 3 didn't. He took one of the shots to the cockpit and never got out. Merging, it was eight against seven. Makari veered left after one of the Sukhois and launched a Sidewinder—an easy kill!

"Splash one. Six bandits remaining." "I've got good tone. Firing. White 2, fox 1." "This is Halo 8, get him off—aah!!"

Another of the Halo pilots fell to one of the enemy. They were outmatched by the agile Sukhoi fighters. Nevertheless, the Bolt made up for it.

"Bolt 2, guns!" "I'm hit! White 11, ejecting!" "Bolt 5, fox 2!" "Four bandits now!"

Halo 10 zeroed in on the lead Flanker. This one had his other wingman, his own flight lead, in his sights. Theo wasn't about to lose him, either. "C'mon… just a little bit over… there! Fox 2!"

Off went the missile, streaking towards the bandit. The Su-35 jinked right, but the projectile still clipped its wing. The aircraft lost its wing and rolled, out of control, burning into the waters of the harbor.

"Sierra hotel! Nice kill, ten! The rest are running!"

Allowing the bandits to retrograde, the ISAAF jets returned to their mission. The Halo resumed bombing (now that the Buran had dealt with the AAA) while the Bolt kept a stern watch for more bandits rash enough to approach. Meanwhile, the distraction had given the _Orkan_'s crew time enough to get to their battle stations. The two turrets on the bow of the ship and one on the stern (the one farthest aft was too damaged to operate properly) rose into the air and fired flak-bursting shells. The .50 caliber AA guns aboard also opened fire, aiming for the low Molniya Squadron.

"Break off the run! Look out! Molniya 5, move it!"

The pilot called Molniya 5 did not evade but kept on with his attack. Bullets tore into his Typhoon, engulfing it in flames. The airplane smashed into the dock and exploded. "You idiot," Molniya 1 muttered, "Look what happened…"

Bolt 1 cursed at the wasted attempt. The formation was down five planes, having lost three to AAA, and that left just twenty-seven to complete the mission. These pilots had to act now, or at this rate they'd all be dead soon. "Disregard the AAA and _hit that ship_!" Makari shouted to the others. Molniya 1 silently obeyed; he knew it had to be done somehow. He accelerated, weaving around the gunfire, and dropped a single bomb… direct hit! The second turret on the stern collapsed upon itself, but the explosion failed to penetrate the _Orkan_'s thick armor.

"That didn't work…! How on Earth…?! What now?!" "What _is_ there to do? We don't have anything that can get through that armor!"

As chaos reigned over his wingmen, Halo 10's thoughts were clear. They didn't _have_ to destroy the _Orkan_, technically… He had a better idea.

"AWACS Doppler to Halo 10, where are you going? That's not the target!"

"It is now, AWACS! Dropping!"

Two of the F-15's bombs were away; they soared gracefully into one of the support pillars for the gantry over the ship and erupted into fire. The column crumpled some but did not collapse. "Damn, that's pretty solid," Theo observed, "Guys, we ignore the ship. Destroy the supports for the metal gantry above it and drop these tons of steel on the fuckers!"

The other pilots settled down now that they had a plan. If their bombs couldn't sink the _Orkan_, then maybe sheer weight could. Darting in and out, flying as close to the battleship as they dared, the attackers hit the supports over and over. At one point, a Halo pilot got too bold and flew directly over the Tanager-class, through the gantry. Riddled with bullets, the Eagle slammed into another nearby Erusian vessel. Nonetheless, the supports weakened under the constant fire. One by one they shattered, shifting a heavier load onto the surviving pillars until they too broke; they had started a chain reaction. With one loud, prolonged screech of tearing steel, the gantry came tumbling down upon the _Orkan_. Though it couldn't sink entirely in the shallow port, the warship was pushed to the bottom regardless. Those abhorred 18-inch guns too were crushed under the weight.

"Sierra hotel! There she goes!" "Yeah! We did it!" "ISAAF over all, man! We are unstoppable!"

The squadrons' accompanying AWACS radioed in his congratulations, "Doppler here. The damage dealt to the _Orkan_ is severe! She is worse than sunk—damaged beyond all hope of repair! Our troops will roll right through here and see to it she never sails again. Good job!"

Cheering and delighted, the victorious craft sped away from the smoke-cloaked harbor on their way south, to home. They cheered their triumph and the anthem, though mostly it was the Bolt Squadron who sang. Those who had lost friends did not sing. Staring dead ahead, it was these morose few who noticed something big at the mouth of the port: it was another huge, gray ship. Molniya 1 called it to everyone's attention. With a slight grin, Richardson identified it.

"Well, well, well… It seems that the _Tanager II_ has returned."

* * *

"Here you are general. Take a look if you want."

Viktor Sturmoff, grinning wide, approached the six jets parked before him. Project Angel Killer was rolling along nicely, having produced these first six fighters, known as 'Starfighters.' The man in charge of EPI was showing Sturmoff his new toys.

"This is the SF-1, the basic design based off the first Lone Star Prototype, the 'Nova.' It is capable of about mach 3. The major difference between Nova and the SF-1 is the addition of forward wing canards to the fuselage there. All of the SFs will have these. These first six fighters, as you can tell, fold their front two wings back into the aft ones."

Standing atop a movable staircase, Viktor watched the SF-3's wings. The leading edges of the back two wings opened, and the front two slid neatly inside. These fighters were remarkably revolutionary, each one having four wings; two were swept forward and two back. The general was very pleased with the design, though it seemed very unconventional.

"The SF-7, currently under final construction, will be the first to have the wings switchblade forward, so that the back wings sweep into the front wings. The SF-8 and 9 will also have this feature."

Viktor took the image in. Nine beautiful Stars, with canards, four wings, outward canted fins, and large internal weapon bays, sitting on a flight line in Farbanti under an orange sun. He knew these fighters would be just what Erusea needed to turn the tables once more on the enemy.

"What are the specific roles of each aircraft?" the general questioned, having noticed that the SF-2's wings were more highly swept than the other planes.

The man answered, "The SF-1 is a basic air superiority fighter. The SF-2 is an interceptor capable of nearly mach 5, based on the Lone Star 'Comet' prototype, the one that survived the destruction of our factory last year. The SF-3 is an upgrade of the SF-1, with new fins, canards, and 3-D thrust vectoring nozzles. The SF-4 is called the MEET, the Mobility and Experimental Electronics Testbed. It features new electronics that have since become standard on the later Stars. The SF-4 was based on the final Lone Star prototype, the 'Black Hole.' It is capable of combat at very extreme long ranges. The SF-5 is a further upgraded SF-3 with the new electronics of the SF-4. It is capable of mach 4. The SF-6 is the production model of the SF-5, introducing this."

He held up a helmet. Viktor snorted, "A helmet? What's so new about that?" "This helmet, general, is a way for pilots to communicate with their aircraft like never before. It displays HUD info right here on the visor if you want, and a little voice will alert you to things like missiles and other threats."

The man replaced the helmet in the cockpit of the SF-6. He started speaking again, "The SF-7 will be an upgraded SF-4, capable of mach 4 and combat at those same long ranges. Though, the SF-4 can track only six targets at once. The SF-7 will be able, through Sonnatrac, to track and engage ten at once. The SF-9 is a very advanced version of the SF-4, and will be mach 5 capable and able to track and engage up to eighteen targets at once! The kill ratio for our newest missiles for this fighter is ninety-five percent, meaning basically nothing can escape a direct hit!"

Sturmoff let out a low whistle. "Damn, that's very impressive. Though, you've left out my fighter—the SF-8."

The man beamed back at the general. "Of course, saving the best for last. Your very own customized dogfighter, general. Capable of mach 5 as well, has the best radar for one-on-one engagements, a thrust-to-weight ratio giving you more acceleration than even the SF-9, and a larger weapon bay for more missiles than any other fighter, save the nine. That's fourteen missiles for you, and that's just internally. You could also have pylons on the forward wings!"

Grinning even wider, Sturmoff obviously loved the idea. He was thrilled to get his hands on the SF-8, but would have to wait until it was completed. "How much longer until the SF-7, 8, and 9 are complete?"

"These last three here," the man said, pointing to the SF-4, 5, and 6, "were finished just today, the 16th. The final fighters are expected to be rolled out before Christmas. The SF-7, in fact, is probably going to be ready before the first week of December is over. How does that sound?"

"Cutting it close, I'd say. The ISAF is approaching fast, and we must be ready for them. Still, do not rush production and lower the quality of those fighters. We've got six already, and that should be enough for now. Thank you for your brilliant work, but I must be going now."

"Enjoy the rest of your day, general."

* * *

"What the hell is _this_?!" "Another defense line? Those damn Belkans!"

Shaking their heads in doubt and their fists in anger, the Osean generals were skimming the SI-96 scans that they had just taken over Sudentor and the surrounding region. What they found was not good news.

"This looks just like the Munition Line in the north, but… as far as I can tell this one is complete." "They've been preparing for us all this time. Why didn't we notice this until now?!"

The Belkans had set up a defensive line south of Sudentor for the sake of defending the city. It stretched on for miles, all the way around the capital, and even was some miles wide. The Osean Army was just days from crashing headlong into this emplacement and had no idea. From the aerial photos, the heads of the Osean Army had to find a way through the killing fields, barbed wire, and bunkers. The more they stared, the more restless they grew, the more impossible it seemed.

The line was a seamless position crafted amidst industrial factories and plants, using buildings as cover and obstacles for the approaching armed forces. This _had_ been the South Belka Gründer Industries Sudentor production compound, the premier factories for building all of Belka's newest weapons and equipment. Naturally, the Osean generals came to call it the 'Production Line.'

They were just days away from a slaughter. The men had to think fast if the Osean front was to continue on to capture Dinsmark and Sudentor at the same time.

* * *

"AWACS Doppler to all aircraft! The _Tanager II_ is approaching! You have new orders from HQ: retreat at once to a safe position!"

Every single pilot scoffed at their new instructions. They had the enemy on the ropes, and still had plenty of ammunition. Why waste it by running away when another juicy target had just presented itself? Leaving the rubble-strewn _Orkan_ behind, the formation regrouped and headed to meet their self-chosen objective head-on.

"Didn't you all hear me? I said retreat to a safe position! Evacuate the harbor airspace!"

"This is Bolt 2 to AWACS Doppler… I'm sorry man, but it just ain't gonna work out that way. This is the only leftover Tanager-class battleship. And believe me, it's goin' to the bottom too!"

Twenty-one attackers rose to eighteen thousand feet, the Bolt Squadron bringing up the rear. They had to decide how best to destroy yet another Tanager-class without armor-piercing bombs or a giant gantry to drop on it. Figuring that multiple bombs hitting the same spot might eventually bust through the armor, they prepared to dive-bomb one at a time.

"Halo 1 will go first. Remember, aim between the front two turrets. The shell storage room is right below there, and if that explodes… oh baby! Game over, the ISAF take it all!" "Haha… got it. Wish me luck."

The Halo leader dived, arming his bombs. The _Tanager II_ was waiting with teeth bared; the three gun platforms it had were pointing skyward. All at once flak started bursting around the ISAF pilot, but he concentrated on that little space. "Pickle! Bombs away!"

Gently loosening themselves from their pylons, the two bombs glided down, detonating right where Halo 1 had planned. The next pilot took his turn while the lead ascended again.

"God damn flak's so thick… Dropping!"

Two more bombs on target. A third plane dived. "Almost there… agh! I'm! I can't-AAHH!!" The Tornado burst into flames, hit by flak. It fell and landed next to the _Tanager II_ with a huge splash and wave. Another fighter reluctantly began his attack. Nervous, he dropped the bombs but missed entirely. Again and again the story played out: some scored hits, others missed, and several unlucky ones were hit and downed. Even after ten direct hits on nearly the same spot, the armor plating was still strong and ready for more. One of the Molniya pilots, the flight lead, just laughed at how bad the situation was.

"It'll take us all year to sink her at this rate… Sorry guys, and sorry to my lovely Typhoon, but… Someone's got to do this. I'll be captured and tortured, no doubt, for this… but who cares? I'll deserve it! Goodbye, comrades!"

Before anyone could stop him, Molniya 1 dived on the vessel. He accelerated, even applying afterburners. Just before smashing into the ship's bow, he bailed out. The jet shot straight into the battleship and out the bottom in pieces; a torrent of water erupted because of the powerful explosion beneath the waves. The bow of the warship slipped steadily beneath the waves, and the stern was lifted up, propellers still spinning. Slamming into the harbor floor, the prow of the proud vessel stopped its forward motion. The aft portion of the ship settled back into the water, filling with the icy, dark blue liquid. Within minutes, the _Tanager II_ had fallen on its side, lying just underneath the waves. Molniya 1 drifted down to the dark water below, certain to be captured as he had said.

"Crazy bastard, nobly sacrificing yourself…" No matter the other Molniya pilots' harsh words, the rest of the New ISAF aviators knew they were infinitely grateful for their leader's action. Though the mission was a resounding success, it ended in a very sober and grave manner.

"AWACS Doppler to all aircraft. The _Tanager II _has been confirmed destroyed. On the other hand, there's a mass scramble of bandits headed your way. There are at least fifty of them… I suggest you get a move on out of there."

Helpless to save their leader, the dispirited Molniya left last.

* * *

The base commander glared at the arriving pilots. He did not feel sorry for the Molniya's loss. If they had returned to base when ordered, a flight with hardened bombs could have destroyed the _Tanager II_. However, they had stayed, and so they paid for it. Still, the threat posed by the legendary Tanager-class battleships was over at last. He could not help but feel glad about that.

"The sortie went brilliantly. Not only was the _Orkan_ destroyed, but also the _Tanager II_! Significant damage was dealt to Varther Harbor as well. You pilots have removed the greatest Erusian threat from the seas! Though we took heavy casualties, we emerged triumphant!"

The pilots seated before him hardly looked 'triumphant.' The colonel's mood sobered to match the aviators'.

"The memorial service for the twenty-one men and women who lost their lives in action will be held tomorrow at 1100 hours." That number, twenty-one, hit the colonel in the gut as he said it. Twenty-one people in one sortie… "That… that is all… You are dismissed."

* * *

"We've been working on all the improvements you've requested, sir. Tell me, what do you think?"

The Prime Minister smiled at Kilroy. He had taken another trip to the construction site of the XAM-100A to check upon its progress, and he was very impressed. Four of the huge MIRV missiles had been removed, tube and all, to make room for the newest additions: six Stonehenge turrets and two burst missile launch tubes.

"I'm loving it now… I was skeptical during my last visit here, but now it seems you've patched up the holes, Kilroy. Your team has done well."

"Thank you sir. Now, I know you originally called for fourteen Mega-class missiles, but as you can see we have only ten tubes. We're building extra missiles and warheads that can be assembled mid-flight and launched from the same tubes. This will double Megafloat's destructive prowess!"

"That's wonderful news, I must say… What are you working on now in this section?"

The Minister had pointed to the fuselage of the craft. Andre replied, "The installation of the STN turrets up top there, the loading of the burst missiles, and those workers are attaching the right wing to the fuselage."

"I see. When should work be completed?"

"It's hard to say… Maybe, three more months? If we push ourselves, then two."

"Two to three months. That's an awful long time to hold off the ISAF."

"I realize that, sir."

"Yeah, well, realizing something doesn't help very much. Come, show me what's going on over there…"

* * *

"This is it, Operation Dreadnought—the greatest military showdown in the history of the world, folks! Pay attention, victory in this upcoming slaughter is crucial to ending this war!"

The intimidated pilots sat quietly and nervously in their seats in the main briefing room of the base. It was November 18th, and ISAF was preparing to launch an all-out assault on the Erusian Whiskey Corridor defense line in hopes of reaching Farbanti (and the end of the war) before Christmas. The gruff and tactless base commander had been shouting rather disheartening things (though he didn't seem to think they were) to the aviators for several minutes, hoping to work them into a frenzy for the battle. It had the opposite effect, however, and each pilot's life certainly was flashing before his or her eyes.

"The enemy has concentrated their entire air force here above Whiskey Corridor, along with as much of their ground forces as they could spare. If we beat them here, they'll be broken and scattered, and the war will end in short order. Though, we must meet an enemy contingent several times larger than ours to do it. That's why we've focused our forces too, and are now ready to attempt a breakthrough. This will be the largest mobilization of forces ever seen anywhere, people. And you'll be a part of it all!"

The pilots ran this all through their minds and solemnly agreed. They knew that at every base even remotely near the Erusian border was filled with other flyboys and grunts ready to break open the path to the Erusian capital. The casualties in this conflict would be extremely high, but it had to be done; and once it was, the war would come to a screeching end for sure.

"There are several key areas that you guys will have to hit so as to give our guys on the ground a fighting chance. The main part of the defense line is here in the front, and consists mainly of bunkers and other emplacements. The flanks here and here are made of two large tank columns that will surely give our infantry hell if they try a flanking attack. There is an artillery camp here that can reach anywhere on this battlefield—knock it out quickly. The enemy HQ is defended by tanks and AAA, as well as a nearby temporary airfield. This has several runways, and failing to take them out will let more and more bandits into the air. Your primary targets should be one of the flanks, the airbase, and the artillery. Use whatever other ammo you may have after that on whatever the allied forces need help destroying. Are we clear? Good! We launch tomorrow, to liberate this continent and end the war once and for all!"

* * *

"Sky Eye here, report in Mobius Squadron."

"Mobius 3 here. All present and accounted for, Sky Eye."

"Roger that. Omega Squadron, come in."

"Omega 1 to Sky Eye. All pilots on standby."

"Roger Omega 1. Bolt Squadron, report."

"All five Bolt pilots at the ready, Sky Eye," Aaron chimed in. Sky Eye was checking in with each and every squadron as they joined the formation of ISAF jets now above the Amber Mountains. Yuke and Sotoan squadrons were meeting over the Lambert Mountains, but the Bolt Squadron had been assigned to this formation instead. There were already a dozen squadrons present, and more were arriving.

"Falcon and Pitch Squadrons, state your status."

"Falcon 1 here. We're all green, right guys? Right."

"Sky Eye to Rapier Squadron. Are you ready?"

"Ready and waiting, Sky Eye."

"Good. The Halo and Viper Squadrons are approaching. All squadrons, make room. Mobius Squadron, ascend to angels eleven. Vapor Squadron, report."

From their positions here, the aircraft were to refuel and wait for the signal to begin Operation Dreadnought. The Bolt, Mobius, and Rapier Squads were to secure air superiority (with assistance from several Yuke and Sotoan squads) while the others went to work destroying enemy forces on the ground. Most likely the Yellows, Angels, and Devils were all waiting for them. It would be a fierce, bloody battle, and Aaron wasn't the only one wondering if he'd survive.

Tense moments passed, but eventually the ISAAF was assembled above the mountain range. There were the ragged veterans that neither the 'Sphynx' nor the elite Erusian squadrons had managed to wipe out, and then there were the nuggets, freshly recruited and trained replacements. Not many experienced pilots expected the rookies to survive, and for good reason. Nonetheless, the attack signal came at last, and all would be going in to fight and die.

"Sky Eye to all pilots. Commence Operation Dreadnought. Begin your assault on the Erusian positions!"

* * *

"They're coming up now… Holy…"

The miniscule formation of ISAAF air superiority fighters watched death incarnate approach them at mach 2—the FEAF had risen to the challenge, ready to shoot them down, then take out their close air support, and lastly finish off the advancing troops. None in the group had seen so many planes clustered together, and they would be the first team to attack, as they had not met up with the Yukes and Sotoans by then. There were just thirty of them, and thirty-seven jets had begun ascending to meet them head on. As the bandits came into view and the unstoppable flood of aircraft ran below them, Aaron identified several squadrons: Su-51s of the Yellows, F-22s of the Devils, and Su-47s and F-18s of other Erusian squadrons, probably White and Green. There were eleven Night Ravens, eleven Raptors, eight Berkuts, and seven Killer Hornets… and they were in range.

"Missiles inbound! All planes, evade!"

Firing off dozens of long range missiles, the Erusians broke off and engaged from different angles. Once again the Devils rose to dive on them; the Yellows arced around to the ISAF jets' left; the other squads approached from their right. The ISAF split as well; the Bolt climbed to counter the Red Devils and the Mobius took on the Yellows. The only ones who weren't outnumbered by their foes were the Mobius, and they sent two fighters (Mobius 13 and 14, Rocco Delmer and Andre Steele) to assist Aaron and his wingmen. While the close air support ditched ground-pounding temporarily to defeat their approaching adversaries, the air supremacy fighters merged and tried to hold their own.

At angels twenty, the Red Devils found they had the advantage of numbers once again. They were determined this time not to lose; after all, it was personal: another Devil, Ralph Larson, had been shot down and killed over Spire. Victor was ready to claim his vengeance, especially since Sturmoff had not launched with his squadron and was elsewhere.

"Aaron Thatcher, prepare to die for what your Sotoan friends have done! Or was it Bolt 4 and 5? Who killed Devil 2, Aaron? Who did?" Grant cursed the Bolt flight lead over the radio. Makari, engaged by two Devils then, could not find Devil 1 nor retort. Victor zeroed in on the two Bolt pilots who had assisted the Sotoans in eviscerating his squadron.

"Here we are… Bolt 4, you are first! Red Devil 1, fox 2!"

Daniel gripped the flight stick tight and pulled through a turn, narrowly dodging the missile. Grant was still behind him, though. Tracers flashed by. "Shit, I'm evading! If someone can help me, now's the time!" Bolt 4 weaved past Aaron in the hopes he'd be able to help, but to no avail; when he did the two Devils on Bolt 1's tail fired two missiles, one at Aaron and the other at Barr. Daniel broke hard left, right into the perfect firing cone for Grant.

"Fox 3, Fox 3."

"Oh sh-!"

Contact—the projectile erupted, and the Syphoner that was its target ripped itself apart. The Bolt watched in horror, praying Daniel got out. The F-25 imploded, but, to everyone's relief, Barr was clinging to his parachute far from it. He was safe for now, though he had a long drift down to the ground.

"Well, he was lucky," Victor called over the radio channel. Bolt 1 noticed him flying for Bolt 4's chute. Was Grant going to-?!

The Raptor pulled up, over Daniel. Devil 1 laughed as he saw Makari afterburning towards him, "Relax Aaron, Ralph died in his plane. Your friend is lucky to have gotten out and end up unlike Larson. I wouldn't dream of strafing someone… I'm no murderer." With that, the Devil lead disappeared back into the furball. Apparently he was not engaging again, but rather checking his wingmen. Two had been downed.

"Devil 1 to Devil 3. Did anyone see Lee and Spenser eject?"

"… N-no, sir… They've both been…"

There was silence from Grant. He had failed two more of his friends. He had let them die while he was trying to avenge a third. It all suddenly became clear to him then, what he must do. Solemnly, Victor ordered, "Stand down, all Red Devils! Cease engagement at once!"

Used to hearing this now while fighting the Bolt, the Devils stopped their attacks immediately. Aaron told his own wingmen to halt. The two Mobius pilots chuckled something, then dived to join the fray with the Yellows. The next thing the Bolt heard was Devil 1 say, "Bolt, I doubt we ever will, but I wish we could see you five in person again sometime. Keep yourselves alive just in case… Our war is over now, but yours goes on. Good luck. Devils, I've made the decision. No more will we allow ourselves to suffer for sins not our own! Follow me."

The nine Raptors turned towards the east and accelerated away. Most of the Bolt were stunned; that was ISAF territory. Were the Devils handing themselves in? Aaron simply smiled and replied, "Pulling a Seraph, are you Grant? Maybe if you ask Mattock he'll let you fight with us! Think about it!"

The Red Devils' leader laughed, saying back, "No, I won't have any more death in this squadron. So many of us forty-five have died, Aaron… Some surely must survive. At the least, this means a fifth of that number will."

The four Bolt watched the Devils go until they were out of sight. Then they dived down, ready to finish off the bandits still troubling their allies.

* * *

"Falcon 4! Pitch 7! Come out and meet your death head-on! Where are you?! Where are you?!"

Marshall grimaced. "It's him, isn't it?" he sullenly asked his friend. Nelson replied while shaking his head, "Yes. Him and her. They are flying alone that way… they're expecting us, Brian."

Falcon 4 cursed, seeing on his radar that it was true. Dalton Rhodes and Leanne Bridger had come seeking some sort of twisted revenge, and now the Points of the Arrowhead were weighing their chances of survival if they took their rivals two-on-two. "You're going to do it, aren't you?" Falcon 1 asked, not really expecting an answer. He knew, they knew, all knew that this duel had to happen. "Yes…" Marshall finally answered, "Yes, we will. You guys will be alright?"

"As long as we're together, we'll bag 'em all."

"Then see you all later. If we didn't do this, how could they call us aces? Points of the Arrowhead? C'mon buddy! We've got a double date with death that we've put off too long!"

The two F-16s broke off from formation and headed to meet the Angels. Dalton eyed their blips on the radar with a smirk. "Here they come, at last. It's good to see you again, bastards… Shall we?"

"Yes, we're accepting your challenge, Rhodes," Jordan scoffed, "And here will be your graves, in the desert wasteland!"

The pairs of fighters shot by each other. Falcon 4 and Pitch 7 split and looped over to find their opponents. The Angels had taken a curve together, and were directly below Marshall. He dived, expecting an easy target, while Nelson raced down beside him. Suddenly Angel 7's Hornet rose up in a Cobra and fired a missile straight for Brian. Taken by surprise, Falcon 4 could only barrel-roll and pray for minimal damage when the projectile detonated. The explosion showered his jet with shrapnel but he blew through it; racing past Dalton with guns blazing he scored a few hits.

"Damn! You'll pay for that in blood, Marshall!"

Scanning behind himself, Falcon 4 saw that Rhodes had shaken off the blows and was now pursuing Pitch 7. Leanne was coming around for another shot at Brian. He saw a missile's engine light up, and he jerked the stick to the left, swinging his aircraft's nose towards Angel 4. The weapon passed by harmlessly, and Bridger overshot. Marshall took this opportunity to fire at Dalton.

"Fox 3, fox 3! Take this, Rhodes!"

"Shit! Bridger, keep this guy off me!"

Dodging away from Pitch 7 to avoid the Sidewinder, Angel 4 changed his target and decided to destroy Falcon 4 first. Angel 7 accordingly shifted to attack Nelson again. Flipping up and over Marshall, Rhodes somehow managed to escape Brian's firing cone and to come into a more advantageous position. By now this Angel had learned his nemesis' flying style, and dove straight past his target before leveling out. Sure enough, Falcon 4, thinking Dalton was on his tail and not below him, dived to avoid him. He ended up right in Angel 4's sights.

"Hahaha! Poor move, Marshall! Guns!"

Upon hearing those triumphant words, Brian pulled his aircraft into a fast roll, trying to dodge as many bullets as he could. Slowly he throttled up as well, bringing himself further away from the lethal spray with every passing second. Though he had taken some hits, Marshall had slipped away from Rhodes once again. The Angel cursed.

"You're just delaying the inevitable… Why not give up now? I'm sure it's quite painless once you're dead… Just a few seconds of pain and then you're through! Why don't you just give up, Marshall?!"

Falcon 4 was tired of answering Dalton's maniacal questions, and he didn't give a response. He was too busy searching for a way to get Rhodes off his tail and to not give him another chance to fire. Twisting this way and that, the small F-16 strove to shake off the Killer Hornet, but to no avail; Angel 4 had a free hand with which to pursue Marshall now that Bridger was successfully holding off Pitch 7.

"There's no escape, Marshall… how about a quick death? That's the best I can offer… hahaha!"

* * *

"You hear that? Sounds like one serious fight going on."

"Yeah… I hear it."

Victor Grant looked down from his position at angels forty. Far below him and his squadron, there were two pairs of fighters which were the only other aircraft for miles, and they were locked in an intense dogfight. The Devil leader grimly watched for some seconds, with thoughts unknown to his wingmen racing through his mind, before suddenly diving upon the jets. His wingmen were surprised and were about to follow suit when he waved them off.

"Keep going on, and don't stop for anything. I'll catch up later. Right now… I have something to finish."

The confused Devils did as they were told, and alone Grant started what would be his last mission in this war—his own self-appointed mission.

* * *

During his fierce maneuvering Marshall had bled off too much energy, and Rhodes now had regained a good tone. His finger on the trigger, Angel 4 waited briefly for _just _the perfect shot… Falcon 4 would not get away this time, he was certain!

"You see? It was all for nothing… you're going to die now regardless. Goodbye Marshall. Fox-"

The missile alert siren suddenly blared in Dalton's cockpit. He jerked his head up, whipping it from side to side, looking for that inbound projectile. He saw that Leanne still had Nelson occupied, so who was firing? The missile, he then noticed, was coming from behind him.

"Damn it!" Slowly the F-18 climbed as its pilot pulled the stick back. It was almost too late; the missile, a Sidewinder, darted in and exploded just beneath Rhodes's aircraft. He felt it shudder and shake, felt the controls seize up momentarily and become sluggish. He'd been hit, and hit hard.

"Shit! Who the hell?!" Again Dalton glanced backwards, and this time he saw the fighter jet that had fired the missile. It was an F-22… a red and black F-22.

* * *

"This is Yellow 1! All planes, this battle isn't fairing well for us! Retreat to position B9!"

"Roger captain! Yellow 11 to Yellows 14 and 16! Fall back to B9!"

The eight Night Ravens fled from the onslaught of the Mobius aircraft. They afterburned away to regroup at a pre-assigned destination, codenamed 'B9.' The Mobius, having fought them off, decided not to follow just yet, but to finish off the rest of the fighters still there instead. With help from the Bolt Squadron they shot down the ten remaining Sukhois and Killer Hornets. Totaling the casualties, they found they had lost twelve of their own. They'd have to join up with the Yukes and mercenaries soon or they'd be slowly picked apart by roaming bandits.

"This is Mobius 3. Sky Eye, where is the group we're supposed to rendezvous with? We need some reinforcements here!"

"I hear you, three. Your new bearing for the group is 0-4-5. Repeat, 0-4-5, over."

"Alright guys, you got it? Let's turn around and head northeast."

Thirteen aircraft turned for the new vector. Four, however, did not. "Bolt Squadron! Come on! What's up?"

Aaron did not answer right away. He was watching his radar. One solitary fighter, a bandit, was engaging nine ISAF jets… and winning. Within seconds, none of the ISAF planes remained. What on earth (or rather, in the skies) could be so powerful?

"There's one aircraft out west that seems a little overzealous, three. We will go investigate and splash that son of a bitch. Head on to the rendezvous point, over."

Without another word the four left formation for the mysterious enemy fighter. Whatever it was, it had to be stopped. The pilot of it saw them coming, as he called out, "Ah! You again! I've been meaning to meet you again ever since two weeks ago!"

It was a very confident voice, one Aaron and the others had heard before. Where was it from? Their thoughts traveled back to two weeks prior, and then the enemy came into view.

"What the hell is that?"

"A long nose, forward swept wings, upraised canards, inward canted fins and no horizontal ones, and two engines which are separate from each other… Never seen a fighter like that before."

"Looks like a crane, or a pelican, or something to me, man…"

The jet was indeed a marvel; how it could even fly none of the Bolt knew. They could see no cockpit on its ridiculously large… 'beak,' was the right word. What they could tell was its paint scheme, all white on the fuselage, but the two wings were red. This stood out to Makari. "Not again…" he groaned, realizing who the pilot was, "God damn it, it's you _again_…"

"That's right," the pilot sneered, "Star 7 in his new, custom ADF-01 Falken, delivered directly from Belka…"

* * *

"You!! What the hell do you think you're doing, traitor?!"

Falcon 4 couldn't believe his eyes; Victor Grant had appeared from nowhere and struck Rhodes with a missile, and now he approached Marshall's wing. The Raptor pulled up alongside, its pilot admiring his handiwork. Angel 4's Killer Hornet had begun to smoke, a sure sign it was in trouble. As Dalton struggled with his aircraft, Devil 1 turned to Brian and exclaimed, "Here I show my true colors! I've denied myself this simple fact for so long, but no longer: the Seraph were right to turn to the ISAF! Falcon 4, this is my first step towards redemption… May you defeat this despicable Angel easily now that he is vulnerable! Good luck to you as well, Pitch 7! And you, Angels… I bid you farewell, for justice is certainly about to be served."

And with that, the F-22 disappeared from Marshall's side. Brian laughed aloud at Angel 4's floundering through the skies. "Why, have the tables turned, Rhodes? Weren't expecting your own ally to get ya, huh? Ha! Thank you Victor Grant, thank you Red Devils! And goodbye, Blue Angels…"

Regaining the advantage, Falcon 4 pulled onto Rhodes's tail and found that it was indeed not difficult to keep him in his sights. The Angel maneuvered desperately, but the Hunting Falcon could keep up with it throughout any move it made now. Dalton cursed Grant for what he had done, for destroying his chances at killing Marshall. The only hope he had now was to head for Angel 7 and get her to help him with the ace on his tail.

"Where are you going, Rhodes? You've never run away without being ordered to by your AWACS! Why now? Are you scared?"

"Shut up! Shut the hell up! We'll kill you regardless of what that bastard did to my Killer Hornet!"

"Is that so… well, let's see it. Nelson, form up! Let those two regroup!"

Pitch 7 gave a start, wondering exactly _what_ was running through his friend's mind! Let Dalton get to the safety of his wingman? It was a ridiculous idea. "Why would I do that? Brian, we have the advantage, let's use it!"

"No," Falcon 4 calmly replied, "I really want to know what they'll do. I want to see who the better pair of aces is!"

Beginning to understand his friend's logic but still somewhat reluctant, Jordan turned away from Angel 7 and pulled up onto Marshall's wing. The Angels did the same, forming up and preparing to stiff-arm their enemy. Pitch 7 wanted to spread out to draw the two Angels apart again, but Brian stopped him, insisting on fighting as pairs.

"This is crazy," Nelson muttered under his breath as the two pairs of fighters raced towards each other, "We've taken our best advantage and thrown it out the window!"

The Angels shot by the Points of the Arrowhead, and Falcon 4 signaled to Pitch 7 for him to follow him. They pulled up into a diagonal left turn, whereas the bandits had disappeared. All of a sudden Angel 4's F-18 shot by the two of them from the right; Jordan made to break left to pursue, but froze when Brian shouted, "Don't! It's a trap!"

Nelson realized then that Bridger had reappeared at his three o'clock high, ready for a perfect missile shot. Dalton had acted as bait. Marshall grinned at this little ploy. "Can't act as one, but only as a pair," he stated matter-of-factly, even though it made little sense to anyone but himself.

Seeing that the plan hadn't worked, Leanne pulled up and climbed. Now Falcon 4 told Pitch 7 to chase after her. Jordan took the lead as Brian dropped back and watched his tail. Shortly afterwards, Angel 7 rolled into a dive, and Angel 4 returned on the ISAF pilots' six o'clock. Pulling up to his wingman and giving him another signal, Marshall initiated a rolling scissors around his friend. Each focused on Bridger and paid no heed to Dalton, who could not keep up with the fierce turns.

"Shit! Angel 7, we need to switch the advantage here!"

"I know, but how?!"

In an instant—and much to the amazement of Rhodes—the two Points pulled out of their maneuvers and broke hard in opposite directions. Angel 4 accelerated up to Angel 7, and the two checked six to find that the ISAF aces were now on _both_ of their tails. Once again the Blue Angels broke off in different ways, hoping their pursuers would split up as well. Unfortunately, they had learned too well, and both kept on Leanne.

"Shit! Dalton, they didn't take the bait again! Get back here!"

It was too late for Rhodes' help; he had veered completely off track and hurried to catch up, only in time to witness the inevitable. Without having to hold in a rolling scissors, Falcon 4 and Pitch 7 could easily target the F-18S. Marshall fired first. "Falcon 4, fox 3!"

"Damn, I'm evading!"

"No, Bridger, not that way! Don't go right!"

Dalton's warning also came too late. When Jordan fired, Angel 7 turned fast, into the missile. Suffering a direct hit to the undercarriage, her jet burst into flames and imploded. Nelson flew over the cloud of fire, smoke, and charred metal, rejoining Brian at angels eleven.

"Leanne! Respond! Damn it, come in! Where are you?! Where's your chute?!"

The three aces knew exactly what had become of Leanne Bridger. Enraged, Rhodes forgot everything about his aircraft's damaged state and charged his hated enemy. He had to tear and rend them now, he _had_ to! This time Marshall and Jordan scattered, easily turning around the Angel's guns and missiles and onto his six. They sat comfortably, gracefully arcing through any maneuver Rhodes struggled to perform. This fight—as all knew—was over.

"Damn you… To hell with you, Marshall!! Nelson!! You've killed her, you've killed me! Are you satisfied?! When will you die, when?! Die, I hope you die soon!!"

Falcon 4 scoffed, then laughed. Shrugging off the Angel's curse, he retorted, "Sorry Rhodes, but it won't happen. We fight as one. You and Bridger fought only as two individuals in a pair. There's a fine line between those two things… we know it, and we benefit from it. Unless you two had learned it too, we would have beaten you every single time! But look… we have… haha! Too bad that you're getting this lesson too late, Rhodes. Goodbye! Fox 3!"

Dalton couldn't evade the missile, and suffered another near-direct hit. His aircraft began crumbling away beneath him, shredding into ribbons of steel and composites. Instinctively, he reached for the ejection handle, then stopped once he felt his hands upon it. With a last smirk, he thought helplessly, "What's the point?" and let go of it.

The two remaining aces watched the second Killer Hornet crash into the desert sand, not a parachute in sight. At long last the rivalry between them was over, and both of the ISAF aces breathed a sigh of relief now that it was.

* * *

"Agh, we just can't get a break, can we man?!"

"Look out! He's firing again!"

A thin, pink laser burst forth from the Falken's fuselage and cut the skies; Sturmoff had used this lethal aircraft to massacre entire squadrons during the battle so far! The Bolt Squadron was determined to stop him without falling victim to his predator aircraft. They could evade that accursed laser most of the time, as Viktor had had little practice with using it on skilled aces, yet they found it nigh impossible to achieve a lock-on and then fire—the ADF-01 was proving to be quite an agile fighter!

"You cannot run from me forever, Aaron, Ericks… Sooner or later the laser will graze you, and then you will become _nothing_!!"

"Hey man, I'm tired of him running his mouth already… Let's get rid of 'im!"

Bolt 2 formed up on Makari's wing, but the two split at once to avoid a volley of missiles coming from Star 7. Richardson and Davis turned and chased Sturmoff away, allowing Aaron time to figure out a plan. With just four fighters, they'd have to pin Viktor down and get him in someone's sights long enough for a missile shot. The Falken though was a demon in the skies; it could handle just about any number of fighters with its highly dangerous arsenal. Even Bolt 1 was at a loss for what to do.

"Keh… how are we supposed to get this guy? Lasers and missiles and all that… sheesh!"

"Well, I guess that means Aaron's fresh outta ideas. Anything, Richardson?"

"You're asking me? Well… I suppose…"

The pilots' ears perked up and listened to what their wingman had to suggest. It wasn't much: a simple plan they'd used during their training to confound their instructors. The 'Thatcher Thatch-weed' they dubbed it, for Aaron had come up with the stupid maneuver. It was child's play compared to real aerial maneuvers, but they were hoping it was enough to distract Star 7.

"Alright! Me an' Thatcher'll be the pair! You other guys, start swiveling!"

"Heh, calling me by my old name again, eh Ericks? Davis, Rich, you got this guy!"

Bolt 1 and 2 accelerated and pulled right in front of Sturmoff, then initiated a rolling scissors. Viktor observed, amused, seeing that the Bolt pilots had apparently gone crazy. Ericks and Aaron were rolling around each other, almost as if they had forgotten about their enemy and were now turning against themselves. The other Bolt pilots would sometimes appear in the middle of Makari and James, for they were in a larger scissors around the others. Viktor could only laugh at what he saw.

"What is this supposed to accomplish? Amusing me before you die? Really guys, shooting you down is all the amusement I need…"

Star 7 moved in aggressively, activating his laser controls and aiming to hit Aaron or Ericks, whomever he happened to strike first. In making this simple decision, Sturmoff fell right into the same trap as many before him—targeting the wrong pair of fighters.

"Now! Fire away and get 'im, man!"

One of the Bolt pilots had disappeared from above him, Viktor noticed, and he saw that the bandit had reappeared on his tail. "Bolt 5, fox 2!"

"Shit! You accursed-!"

Climbing hard, the Falken was able to evade the AMRAAM Johnathan had fired, yet he had veered right into Bolt 3's sights. This time he saw the missile too late. It hit his left engine, completely destroying the tail end of the ADF-01. Sturmoff yanked the ejection handle before his craft burst into flames, and he drifted out of sight, cursing and shouting all the way down.

"Well, that takes care of that. Nice job all, and some sharp thinking there, Rich."

"Thanks Makari. Unfortunately, he bailed out. You think we'll see him again?"

"I hope not, man! Besides, hasn't he learned by now that he can't beat us? Sukhoi, Falken, or whatever, we'll take 'im down in anything he can come up with!"

"Got that right. Say, gentlemen, is there a battle going on still? What say we go finish up the rest of these guys as well?"

"Amen to that! Let's go!"

* * *

"General! General!"

The exhausted colonel came racing up the hill of sand to report to his superior. News had just come in from the front, and all was looking good. The number of enemy aircraft in the skies was diminishing, the dug-in Erusians were being expelled with help from close air support, and allies everywhere were advancing.

"What is it, Andre? Here, take my hand and get up here already."

"I hate walking on sand like this… Sir, anyway! The frontlines have radioed in that the enemy is in full retreat! We're chasing them out of this godforsaken desert and back to their capital!"

The general grinned widely and slapped the colonel on the back. "Great, great! Order some champagne and a fresh change of clothes! I'm sweating up a storm here and need some time to kick back, relax, and enjoy this victory!"


	23. Chapter 23: Angel Killers

* * *

"From the throne came flashes of lightning, rumblings, and peals of thunder. Seven flaming torches burned in front of the throne…" – Revelation, Ch. 4: 5

* * *

"General of the Air Force Viktor Sturmoff here to see you, sir."

"Let him in."

The Prime Minister watched with skepticism as nine men entered his office in the bunker. One, a tall, unshaven man with unkempt brown hair, stepped forward and saluted. "Sir, the eight chosen pilots for the Angel Killer Project."

"Christ, Sturmoff," the Minister scoffed with disgust, completely ignoring the other men for now, "You could stand to clean yourself up once in a while!" Viktor bowed his head and mumbled something apologetically, but the Minister paid no mind. He beckoned the men to sit down. "Let's begin. Please introduce yourselves. Name, rank, and experience will do."

The closest man to the Minister stood. He also seemed to be the youngest. "Colonel Timothy Sanders, sir," the man said, "Ten years in FEAF service and two in the ISAAF." The Minister nodded, sizing the man up, from his light blonde hair to his tightly tied boots. "He'll be perfect for one of the later fighters," the Erusian leader contemplated, "Perhaps the five or the six."

Sanders took his seat again, and another man stood up. He spoke in a heavy Belkan accent, and was nearly a foot taller than Sanders. "Gregory Asche, also a colonel. One year in sir's air force, eleven in deh Belkan Air Force."

The Minister took interest in this man. "A Belkan pilot, eh? What squadron do you hail from?" "One hundred and ninth Tactical Air Superiority Squadron, 'Erzengel.'" "Ah… a fine choice, Sturmoff."

Asche sat, and the Minister realized that Sturmoff was eyeing the pilot warily. It seemed Sturmoff wasn't happy about bringing a non-Erusian into this new squadron. In the meantime, a third man had stood up. This man the Minister recognized.

"Ah! Colonel Mikhail! I didn't notice you sitting in the back there. Guess I should have. How has it been going for you?"

"Well sir, this year marks my eighth in the FEAF. I'm proud to be among these men here."

"Heh, you always are. So far you've made outstanding choices Sturmoff! Who is next?"

A gaunt man stood, and the Minister actually recoiled at first. The pilot looked almost like a zombie. "Colonel Zhurmik Behrendt. Eighteen years in the force, including three in the ISAAF. Saw brief action in Yuktobania during the Circum-Pacific War."

One of the other pilots 'ooh'ed sarcastically at Behrendt's experience. Zhurmik ignored him and sat back down, but the Minister did not; he rounded on the man and questioned, "Pilot, who are you to speak out of turn? Identify yourself, on your feet, let's go!"

Instead of answering right away, the man slid his chair closer to the Minister's desk and put his feet up on it. The leader glared furiously, but the pilot just smiled and sat like that as he spoke.

"Colonel Conrad Edith, _your Majesty_," he began, bowing low to the floor as he introduced himself, "Eight years in the FEAF, and still going."

This Conrad was also young in comparison to most of the men in the room. His red hair was almost as red as the flames of anger emanating from the Prime Minister. Luckily Sturmoff saw this potential disaster coming and averted it just in time.

"Er, sir! Conrad is a very talented pilot, despite his…er, _eccentric_ attitude."

The Minister glowered at Sturmoff, then Edith. The maverick grinned again at his leader and ran his hand through his hair. Almost trembling with wrath, the Minister sent a look straight through Viktor that seemed to imply, "He pilots the worst jet or else." The Minister then relented and slid back into his seat, waving his hand to signal the next pilot to speak.

A sixth pilot cautiously got to his feet. "Sir… Colonel William Zumtod. Six years in the FEAF, and three in the ISAAF. Experienced with all kinds of Sukhoi fighters, especially the Su-51 Night Raven."

The Minister grinned, his dissatisfaction with Conrad disappearing immediately. "So, you're from Aquila then?" "Yellow 9, sir." "Excellent… _excellent_ choice, Sturmoff." The ex-Yellow sat down.

There were two men left to introduce themselves, and the Minister thought he had seen one of them before. This man stood up next and said, "Colonel Dieter Rote. Thirteen years in the service, two of which were spent as an instructor. Proud to be considered (he eyed Edith warily) one of the best."

Dieter returned to his chair. "An instructor," the Minister mused, "I must have met him while touring the air bases. Which one was it…? He'll have one of the more advanced jets, no doubt!" The last man rose in the meantime.

"Afanasi Borislav, colonel. Years in the FEAF, fourteen. None in the ISAAF! I am loyal to this great nation only, and will always be!"

Borislav sat once more, and several of the pilots stared at him for a while. Amused, the Minister thought, "There's a real madman… a man after my own heart." He himself got up and spoke.

"Well Sturmoff, I haven't seen too many of these men fly, but it seems you've made good choices… for the most part (Conrad coughed loudly). I trust, you've introduced yourself to these men also?"

"Er, no sir. I haven't yet."

The Minister sighed. "If I wasn't leading you by the hand… I suggest you do that while we're all here."

Sturmoff mumbled apologetically before turning to his new wingmen. "As you already know, I am General Viktor Sturmoff. I've been a pilot for twenty years, though I've only been flying in combat often since a few weeks ago. I've chosen you all for your skills to pilot the newest breed of advanced air dominance fighters in the defense of Farbanti. I… suppose that's all."

The Minister clapped his hands to draw attention to himself. "Indeed, that'll do it. Sturmoff, get these men their new callsigns… then show them their planes."

Viktor nodded, saluted, and opened the office door. The eight other pilots also saluted, and the group left. The Minister returned to his work, muttering, "The fate of Erusea rests on those nine… May we be guided by… starlight." He finished the rest of his work with a smile.

* * *

"Cutlass Division! Report!"

"All guns aimed and at the ready!"

"Rapier Division! Report!"

"All go, sir!"

"Scimitar Division! Report!"

"Last gun being positioned now!"

With a wide grin the colonel surveyed the ruined city in front of him. Buildings lay shattered and whole blocks were destroyed by burst missiles in Operation Sphinx. The city seemed gloomy because of a fine layer of gray ash fallen on it from the fires of the structures. Still, even though the metropolis had been hit many times by those ICBMs, many parts stood tall and proud yet. Now that the ISAF had reached Farbanti, it was time to finish the job.

"Sabre Division! Report!"

"Locked and loaded! Let's toast these suckers!"

Pointing at Farbanti was a grand battery of artillery assembled for the sole purpose of exacting revenge for everything leveled carelessly by the 'Sphynx.' Back then the Erusians hadn't cared what they hit, and so now the ISAF weren't planning on precision either. Farbanti, once so proud a city, would be trampled ashes once the ISAF was through with their 'Shock and Awe.'

"Gladius Division! Report!"

"We're all go here, sir!"

"Katana Division! Report!"

"Ready and waiting!"

The lieutenant colonel who had been shouting for reports over the radio finished. He turned to the colonel for orders. The head of the artillery smiled back and took the radio speaker. "Attention, men… I don't want any buildings standing after we're through here," he barked into it, "Let's tell them they've lost… Open fire!!"

The grand battery erupted; a ring of smoke formed around Farbanti from the guns discharging. Huge shells and rockets whistled and shrieked through the air, smashing into buildings and striking the strongest structures down as dominoes. Tongues of fire and pillars of smoke burst forth from whence these arrogant things stood before. Nothing in the city could be heard over the deafening roar of the grand battery. Shell after shell, rocket after rocket, it did not stop. The destruction, the decimation caused, was not enough. Even more guns fired at the target, burying it far beneath rubble of its own buildings.

The colonel licked his lips, which were chapped by the cold, biting December air. He could taste the retribution being served on a silver platter forged from molten shrapnel. Commenting on the devastation stretched out before him, he quoted, "'Then the Lord will create over the whole site… a smoking cloud by day and a light of flaming fire by night.' Isaiah, chapter four, verses five through six."

* * *

"Gentlemen! Please! Let's get this started, okay?"

The base commander peered sternly at the rowdy pilots gathered before him. It was December 12th, and, try as he may, the colonel couldn't calm soldiers eager to finally get back at Erusea for everything and end the war before Christmas.

"You will all be launching later today in Operation Winter Thunder, the taking of Farbanti. Your primary objective will be to secure air supremacy. Then you will aid the ground forces as best as—_Captain Ericks! Back in your seat! While I share your enthusiasm at Captain Barr's safe return, I'm also certain he doesn't need your harassment!_—where was I?! You will aid the ground forces. Tanks will enter the city from the north and east. Our fighters will attack from the south. The primary objectives are as—_Is there anything you'd like to add to this briefing, Major Vadim?! I didn't think so!_—are as follows: the underground bunker of the government complex for the eastern forces, the Farbanti International Airport for the north, and—_If you talk one more time, Lieutenant Dopth, I swear I'll have you court-martialled! This is serious!_—and… and… whatever the other one is! I can't work with you people like this!!"

The pilots laughed as the colonel (obviously very flustered) stormed off. The next man to take the stand chuckled as well while his friend fled. He was a major general, as the aviators noticed, and they shut up quickly when he began to speak. Though his speech was short, his magnificently powerful voice drew everyone's attention and awe.

"Gentlemen, ladies, here we are. We've struggled with them, killed them, been killed by them, pushed them back… and now we're on the Erusians' doorstep! It's time we knocked and let ourselves in, people. This is Operation Winter Thunder; twenty years ago it was Autumn Thunder. The ISAF triumphed then and will again now!"

The assembled audience cheered. With a wide grin the general went on, "Today you pilots will take to the skies—your skies—with others from many different races and nationalities. You've done so before, and always will… You will unite under the proud banner of the New ISAF and defeat your foe, my foe, _our_ foe, Free Erusea! Launch, launch now! Make Free Erusea free no longer!"

* * *

"Operation Winter Thunder, commencing at 1400 hours… mark."

"Huh? My name's not Mark, man."

"Maintain. Radio. Silence. Ericks."

"Okay AWACS… Just checking."

The Bolt pilots couldn't help but snigger at James and Sky Eye's exchange. All in the formation were in great spirits, and for good reason. The capital lay already crumpled and burning at their feet, they were at the top of their game, and so many allies would be assisting, including some more Sotoan mercenaries. There were the ten Sternlinach pilots flying S-32s and Su-47s, the Sahlert Squadron of eleven F-25s (both A and B versions), as well as the Emporuft Squadron flying twelve F-25Bs and F-22s. The Mobius, Falcon, Pitch, Wisna, and Omega Squads were also present. ISAF had, after all, called all of its aerial forces together at Whiskey Corridor, and so naturally had not fanned them out again after the breakthrough. Everyone knew that no matter what condition Farbanti was in, a concentrated strike would be necessary to secure victory.

"Alright! We're starting out! Attention overhead aircraft, this is General Andrews of the 7th ISAF Army. We're rolling in from the north, and my brother's got the east. Listen up, there are some aircraft above us, and we can't advance safely unless they're gone, got it? We think you know these guys… Yellows?"

Marshall called back, "We sure do! We're on our way!" With that the Falcons, Pitches, and Mobius split off to deal with Aquila Squadron. More radar returns were brought to everyone's attention by Sky Eye; Red and Black Squadron aircraft approaching. The Omega and Wisna Squads opted to take them on, leaving just the mercenaries surveying the city airspace.

"Sky Eye here. Our troops are advancing safely now, but helicopters are rolling in on them. Don't let our guys get killed before they even get into the city!"

"Roger that, AWACS Sky Eye. Sahlert Squadron will intercept." The eleven F-25s broke off and headed to take down the copters. The remaining ISAF squadrons drifted about, patrolling the airspace. "Man, we always get stuck just watching! I wanna kick some ass!"

As if Sky Eye had been listening (Aaron had noticed over time that the AWACS tended to tune Ericks out), he alerted the pilots, "Seven more aircraft. Bogeys though. Identify at once, but be on your guard, they're not ours so they're probably the enemy. Vector 3-4-5."

"Roger," Bolt 1 started, "We'll go-"

"Sternlinach will go," the Sotoan lead interrupted, "Sorry Bolt Squad, but Sotorans don't let Sotorans face enemies that outnumber them!"

"Aw man…" Slightly amused, Makari watched the Berkuts go. His thoughts wandering, he commented on how much he liked their paint scheme—deep navy blue planes with an orange full moon on the fuselage but nothing else. Sternlinach did mean 'Starless Night,' as he learned later.

"New ISAF Sternlinach Squadron to unidentified fighter jets. You have entered a war zone. Identify yourselves or leave. If you do neither you will be assumed hostile and fired upon, over."

Aaron wasn't exactly listening to the Sternlinach, but he did note that they received no response from the bogeys. In fact, the next thing he heard was neither the bogeys nor the Sotoans, but rather Sky Eye's surprised shouts.

"Sternlinach, respond! … We've lost all contact with the Sternlinach! All aircraft, seven hostiles coming in on vector 3-4-8!"

The other Sotoans erupted over the issue at hand. "What do you mean 'lost contact?!' What happened?!" "They're not on radar! They must be down!" "No way! Those guys are good, and they had a ten to seven advantage!" "Look for yourself, damn it!"

Regardless of whether or not the others did, Aaron checked his radar. The bandits were heading straight towards them. "We've got seventeen fighters grouped together here," he calculated, "Who are they and what are they thinking?!"

Before he could do anything, the Emporuft lead shouted to his wingmen, "We'll find out for ourselves! Destroy those bandits!" The twelve detached at once at their leader's command, ignoring Makari's yells to stop and wait.

"Bolt 1, this is Emporuft 2. Our allies are down, and we must avenge them. Would you not do the same?"

"Not when just seven bandits take out ten of my allies," Aaron muttered in reply, "Not without knowing what we're up against." The Emporuft ignored him again. They got within visual range of the enemy and prepared to engage.

"Tally ho. Seven bandits, flying… uh… What _are_ those fighters? … Four wings…?"

"I've never seen fighters like these before—aah! They're firing on us!"

While listening to the fray's commencement, Makari commanded through clenched teeth, "Bolt Squadron, pull back towards the east. Sky Eye, we'll need the Mobius, Wisna, and Omega's help. These bandits… are dangerous…"

The five flew on without a word. Meanwhile, hollers and shouts drifted from the embattled Emporuft to their ears. The Sotoans were losing, and the enemy jets were astounding. Capable of turns, climbs, and acceleration even an F-25B could not match, the bandits were massacring their challengers—strafing the pilots who had ejected.

Meanwhile, Bolt 1's request had been answered. Thirty-four ISAF aircraft joined them, reluctantly leaving the Falcon, Pitch, and Sahlert to deal with the majority of the bandits. Aaron spoke to the new arrivals, "Those seven bandits to the northwest are hell-bent on killing us all. That's why we need overwhelming numbers; if we're shot down they'll try to strafe us with gunfire, and we must cover each other if we have to bail out. All aircraft, they've already taken down twenty-two Sotoans. The bandits are coming for us. Get ready."

A voice cackled over the radio. "No numbers will save you from me, Bolt pilots! This is Star 7, I know you're up here… I'd like to introduce my new squadron and fighters! So why don't you five come out and play, eh? Haha!"

* * *

"Falcon 4, behind you!" "Damn it! I'm completely defensive!"

The two Points of the Arrowhead shot this way and that, avoiding Yellows who had them surrounded. Brian and Jordan knew their wingmen would get annihilated by the skilled Erusians, and so had decided to tackle the formation of seven Aquila aircraft. Marshall had hardly any time to take in this accomplishment; over two years the two of them had cut the Yellow Squadron in half. Now they were to finish the job.

"Pitch 7, break right!" "Hard radar spike! I can't get away from this guy!"

Seven to two was hardly an easy fight, and even with their experience the two were struggling. They hadn't been able to take a single shot yet, with Yellows appearing on their tails whenever they got a good tone. They needed a strategy now, and so far they had been too distracted to figure one out.

"Falcon 4 here, bandits at twelve and six! And three! Damn this!" "Pitch 7 to Falcon 4, how are we to win this?!"

Marshall raced through his options. The Su-51 was a fast and agile fighter, but it had its weaknesses. His F-16S could turn faster, but it was outclassed in every other respect. Surely the Sukhois were lighter, needing less fuel and having fired many missiles towards the ISAF aces. That option was out the window too, then. The ground forces were growing impatient, to top it all off.

"General Andrews to those two _idiots_! Hurry up and get rid of those Sukhois! We have to get rolling down here!" "Hey, piss off, alright?! They don't even have bombs, so _you guys_ are safe!"

Brian was sick of seeing an Su-51 everywhere he turned. He counted unknowingly each time… Yellow 1, Yellow 11, Yellow 6… Yellow 16, Yellow 6… Yellow 1, Yellow 8, Yellow 5… there were six. Six? "Nelson! Did you get one?!"

"Negative. One's disengaging!"

"This is Yellow 14, my radar and flight controls are failing. Must be pushing her too hard, eh? Returning to base!"

The tables had shifted, not so much turned, as the two still were outnumbered three to one. But now Jordan saw his plan come together. The Sukhois obviously couldn't press themselves to higher Gs for too long without being damaged, possibly because of such strain over the long time the bandits had flown their aircraft. The F-16S was made more highly durable than that! It would be risky, but Pitch 7 would really have to rack up the Gs.

"Come on you damn fascist! I think you're falling behind!"

"Haha! Taunting a Yellow now? You're hardly at a position to do so… Let me show you!"

Sure enough, the proud Erusian fell in behind Nelson and clung to his tail. Breathing hard, forcing blood to his head, Pitch 7 pulled ten Gs in a right turn. The Night Raven followed right through it, until a frantic call over the radio cried, "What the hell?! My radar's toast! Damn it… take over for me, Taylor!"

Jordan chuckled. As the fighter departed and another took its place, Nelson pulled into a hard left. The disengaged bandit appeared in his sights. "Fox 2!" With no radar, the Yellow never saw it coming. The projectile smashed into his fuselage, exploding and destroying the jet. "Splash one!" Pitch 7 triumphantly called.

That cruel voice of Yellow 6 countered, "The last one you'll ever see, coward… Shooting down a plane that's out of commission!"

Brian scoffed, "It's no better than you tried to do to me that one time long ago! Too bad for you the Seraph beat you out of the way!"

This insult served no purpose but to anger Taylor further. With Pitch 7 in his sights and his wingmen attacking Falcon 4, Zachery had no worries. He jeered, "You're out of place, Falcon 4… You will die in turn, but first, your friend…"

The F-16 swiveled and jinked to throw off the Yellow's lock. No matter what he tried, Jordan couldn't outmaneuver Taylor. The bandit had spent only some of his missiles, but was still conserving them. He had wised up since his earlier fights. Slowly, inch by inch and foot by foot, he gained on Nelson, carefully and steadily increasing his speed and decreasing the distance between him and his prey. An entire minute later (a lifetime to anyone who's clung to someone's six o'clock) he had his gunsight lined up perfectly. Now, now was the time to fire. To kill. Taylor smirked.

"Guns…" he muttered, firing his 30mm. Pitch 7 reacted too late. "Ack! Diving!" The F-16 rolled to descend, but took too many hits in those few precious milliseconds. Smoke billowing forth now, the crippled fighter was out of control. Zachery moved in for the kill.

"Too bad, little one. The Raven has killed you… Guns."

Again the Sukhoi's cannon roared to life, and steel slugs shot straight through seven's aircraft. The engine choked on the smoke, sputtered, and died. Faster and faster the aircraft fell through the clouds to the earth below. Taylor followed it the whole way, waiting for Nelson to pull that ejection handle.

"Pitch 7!" Marshall yelled, "Bail out! Get out of there! Jordan!"

The canopy never burst, the seat never fired. Whatever had happened in Nelson's cockpit, he wasn't leaving it anytime soon. The F-16 crashed into a small building on the outskirts of Farbanti.

"Nelson!! God damn it, respond!! Jordan you bastard!!"

Tears welled up in Marshall's eyes, but he promptly opened his visor and wiped them away. "You don't know anything yet," he told himself, "He ejected, he had to! He's too good to be… to be shot down by Taylor!" Brian felt a terrible feeling, the same feeling he had when he had said that Pitch 3's brother had not been killed. It was the feeling of self-disbelief.

Laughter reached four's ears from over the radio. It was Yellow 6. He had heard that cackle far too much. Now he was determined to end it forever.

"Hahaha… oh Falcon 4, your turn… Step right up and be my next victim!"

* * *

Aaron clenched his teeth to stop himself from swearing. That voice, that callsign, it was Sturmoff _again_! He was one of the seven bandits, probably the lead, considering his rank.

What Emporuft 1 had mentioned, that the bandits' jets had four wings, had Bolt 1 worried. It brought to mind something he had tried rather hard to forget: his mission over the EPI factory, when he witnessed a plane with four wings take off. Now he would have to see for himself if that chance encounter had anything to do with what Sturmoff had.

The Star Squadron came into view. Seven jets, all indeed with four wings. Two of the wings were swept forward and two behind those swept back; before the wings were a forward wing canard on each side in the shape of a trapezoid, much like a Berkut or Syphoner. It was immediately obvious that these planes were built for maneuvering—but not for speed, for there'd be too much drag and stress on the wings. Each wing was long and slender, looking ready to snap off if one jet so much as revved either of its two huge engines. Even from a long distance Aaron could tell these jets were big—probably as long and as wide as an Su-47, and _that_ reached nearly eighty feet in length. The paint scheme was familiar; Viktor's favorite white and red. Though not very intimidating from far away, the aircraft certainly already had a fearsome reputation.

The fighters broke formation; the two on the furthest edge of the group broke in opposite directions, the next two climbed while another two dived, and a seventh plane came straight on. This seventh plane was white except for red on the wings, and had a large number seven on the tail composed of stars. This was Sturmoff alright, and he was the lead after all.

"Didn't believe me back then, did you five? I told you that there was more to my squadron than just me. And here we are… flying the Starfighter series, numbers one through seven! You know, Bolt Squadron, these jets have been engineered for naught but one purpose… killing you!"

"Then let's see how they live up to their intended purpose," Aaron muttered slowly, "We've beaten you before, and we'll beat you again, no matter what you're flying."

Sturmoff and Makari shot by each other, guns roaring and tracers cutting the air. Aaron could tell he was neither hit nor had been able to scratch Star 7's new toy during that pass. He broke hard left and turned a complete one-eighty—but no Sturmoff. A cackle and missile warning clearly signified that he was behind him… somehow. Bolt 1 spiraled away just in time to avoid taking a direct hit.

"Hahaha… Don't think you can outmaneuver me, Thatcher! It's impossible! Why, if you knew the electronics that make up this baby… oh, look out behind you!"

Aaron's head swiveled around; there was the missile, still chasing him down! In one swift hand motion he brought his Syphoner up into a steep angle, and the lethal pursuer overshot just below him, exploding far ahead of him.

"Holy…" Makari's mind raced, "Those missiles are as advanced as the jets themselves. This is real bad!"

Despite overwhelming numbers, the confusion of the fray disorientated the New ISAF aircraft. Not one could land a hit on the impossibly mobile Starfighters. Bolt 1 had not been able to shake off Star 7, who kept spouting off trivia about his beloved fighter which Aaron only half listened to. What he _did_ hear he didn't believe: capable of speeds in excess of mach 3, something about maneuverability, stats on the missiles… "Hey, as long as it keeps him from looking behind him, he can boast all he wants," Makari figured. Ericks had seen his buddy's plight, and was sneaking up for the perfect shot on Viktor's perfect jet. Just a slight adjustment by Aaron here, and…

"Bolt 2, fox 3!"

Taking his eyes off the aircraft swirling around him in pursuit of the other Stars and SFs (as Sturmoff had lovingly referred to them during his rant), Bolt 1 glanced back at Star 7 and the Sidewinder now chasing him. He dared hope that Viktor had not seen Ericks, yet the bandit slipped right just in time. Then, in an instant, a flash of white zipped between Sturmoff and James; it was another pursued SF, and Bolt 2's Sidewinder pulled a sharp turn and zeroed in on a new target. Before the Erusian knew what was happening, he took a direct hit to the engine.

"Damn it! This is Mikhail, I'm hit!"

"Woohee, man! I got 'im, but he's still flying! Is that even possible?"

"After all this? Nothing would surprise me now!"

Ericks's lucky shot was the sole high point of the battle; already allied aircraft were dropping like before, though this time the Star pilots couldn't strafe those who ejected. However, as more planes went down, they were increasingly more free to act upon their wrathful vendettas. Aaron knew that this battle could not be won—not with all the disadvantages building up against them.

"This is Bolt 1! Sky Eye, tell the troops to withdraw! We can't provide air superiority for them! We've got to get out of here!"

"We hear you Bolt 1. Our forces are retreating from heavy resistance in the city. We need you to hold off those fighters just a little while longer."

* * *

"Yellow 8, fox 1!"

"Haha, wow, imagine! Yellow Squadron's had the honor of destroying the Seraph, now we get to kill off the Points of the Arrowhead! What an _illustrious_ history we've had, eh?"

The Yellows were celebrating as if they had already claimed victory, yet Marshall was hanging in there. He found himself completely overpowered by the faster, more numerous Sukhois, and he could do almost nothing to defend himself. There were missiles coming at him from all sides; his only escape route was straight up. He climbed as high as he could, and lost his pursuers—rather, the Erusian ravens simply waited down below for their prey to return, as they knew it would. For now Brian had a moment to think clearly and to plan quickly.

"Huh… how on Earth did you do this, Mobius 1? How can I overcome such dangerous and skilled opponents by myself? I don't think I can do this…"

Brian took his hand off the throttle and placed it over his stomach. He felt sick, and figured that the situation was hopeless. What could he do then? Run and eject somewhere along the way? No… the Sukhois could catch him. Fighting was no real option either, but those were his only options.

"Damn it… I need some real inspiration here…"

He looked down at the circling Su-51s, then to the west; there he saw a large cluster of fighters swarming in a furball. Every now and then fighters fell burning from the mass of aircraft, and Marshall wondered to whose side they belonged. Suddenly it didn't matter to him. If they were willing to fight and die, they were real pilots. "Look at me!" he scoffed, "Hiding up here from the enemy… I am an ace! I am a hero to so many people! If I am to be worthy of their respect—and to be worthy for what Mobius 1 did for me that day—then I have to fight now!"

Finally he flipped his aircraft over and dived, throttling up and racing towards the enemy. There was no turning back now, and no hesitation.

"Well, it's about time. Get down here and die, you little—what?"

The Yellows watched as a blur shot past them at mach two, then arced around the city and came back for another pass. They scattered as Marshall spewed 20mm rounds their way, and regrouped to attack, but he was already gone. Heads swiveled back and forth, but Falcon 4 was found too late.

"I'm here! Fox 2!"

"Wh-what?! Look out, Anjel!"

Yellow 16 turned right to avoid the missile, but only ended up being sideswiped by the projectile. She ejected immediately, and her Sukhoi exploded. Brian vanished once again.

"Shit! How could we let that happen? Where is he?"

"There! He's coming for you, eight!"

Over the radio Marshall heard the Yellows' confused yells, and he listened intently for any sign of weakness. Here he found one—by switching to attack Yellow 11 instead, he'd throw off the enemy. The bandit approached head-on, and Brian took this opportunity as well. He jerked the stick just as he was about to pass the Night Raven, and his Falcon started into a tail slide. Firing his Vulcan all throughout the maneuver, Falcon 4 was able to put enough lead into the Sukhoi to destroy it. Yellow 11 bailed out too, making it three to one.

Though his aircraft had stalled after the slide, Brian regained control easily and resumed his relentless assault on the remnants of the Yellows. The three formed into an arrowhead and zipped past Falcon 4 with a flurry of missiles; none impacted, none even came close. They were getting desperate.

"Come on then, Yellows! Kill me too! Why can't you?! Can you not stop just one more fighter?! … No? Of course not! I am going to kill _you_ instead!"

The arrowhead swept around and stiff-armed Marshall, yet he was ready with a Sidewinder. Firing and climbing over the bandits, he looked back on two fighters splitting off and a third burning, its pilot clinging to his parachute. At once Brian veered after another Yellow, targeting him and spraying him with 20mm bullets—until suddenly his gun ran dry. He had just two missiles left, and two bandits. "Shit. This is just what I need."

To compensate for this obvious disadvantage, Falcon 4 would have to close in and get the enemy in the most perfect firing position he'd ever had so he could be certain to hit him. The Yellow was making it nigh impossible with his jinking, and, worse yet, Taylor was closing in on Marshall's six.

"Deresav, hold on until I get tone. We've got him."

Brian gritted his teeth and muttered, "Like hell. Let's see you get me, bastard." He had gotten unreasonably close to the enemy plane, easily within five hundred feet. At this range Falcon 4 did not care if the Sidewinder had time to arm, only that it hit its target. Yellow 1's time was up, the ISAF ace was sure of that.

"Fox 3! Fox 3!"

The missile's engine ignited and propelled it forwards; Zachery yelled out a warning to his flight lead; the Sidewinder bit into the Sukhoi's engines and did not detonate. Nonetheless, the damage was done, and it was severe. Pieces of the Night Raven wrenched themselves off the fighter and careened towards Marshall and Taylor—Falcon 4 moved out of the way fast enough, yet Yellow 6 did not. A piece of the destroyed fighter's fin smashed into the Yellow's wing, igniting a fire and nearly crippling the Sukhoi.

"Damn it! Damn you, Marshall! Damn you, Deresav! _Damn you all_!!"

Brian looped around and pulled onto Taylor's tail with ease. It seemed his fighter couldn't make right turns anymore, and its climbing was slow and unsteady. Zachery did his best to escape, but it wasn't nearly enough. Falcon 4 broke off and sped away, preparing to finish his opponent in his own way.

"Come back here, bastard! I'm not done with you! I'll kill you!"

Marshall shook his head as he arced around and aimed at Taylor. He spoke his last words to this man slowly and loudly, ensuring he heard every word. "You, six, are a disgrace to the name of Aquila. All of your wingmen are. The Yellow Squadron was proud once, was honorable once, and now it has come to this… spiteful pigs who cowardly attack civilians and can't face true aces! Die now, Zachery Taylor, die like the worthless piece of shit you are!!"

Falcon 4 fired his last missile. Yellow 6 saw it coming in slow motion. He tried to avoid it, but his jet failed him. In a loud _boom_ the missile shot into the Night Raven's cockpit and exploded. Trailing fire, the Sukhoi burned all the way to the ground.

"Rest in hell, you despicable bastard. That's for Jordan, for the Seraph, and for everyone you killed in your attacks on cities! … Sky Eye… I'm winchester, and Jordan… Pitch 7's down, he's… I got the Yellows… Returning to base, okay? Tell the others good luck…"

Breathing heavily, Brian Marshall turned for home, leaving the skies of Farbanti.

* * *

For some a little longer was too long. The ISAF's five to one advantage had fallen quickly to three to one. Aaron frantically swerved around burning planes and enemy missiles, waiting for Sky Eye's reprieve. It was taking too long, slowly counting down the time until all would be dead. Bolt 1 watched a Wisna pilot take a direct hit, bail out, and be strafed. They could wait no more, and all now knew it.

"That's it! All units, pull back, pull back!"

"N-negative! I can't get away!"

"Don't think we'll let you escape, Bolt Squadron…"

Makari sensed something was wrong, and he shifted to look behind him. Sure enough, the SF piloted by Sturmoff was there.

"Before you go, allow me to introduce you to my newly developed, 30mm, 'Titan' machine gun!"

A frightening roar rose, and Aaron's first instinct was that an A-10 was firing its cannon. It dawned on him that the rapid stream of orange fire was coming from the Star; whatever this Titan machine gun was, it was as if the designers had simply taken a GAU-8 and buried it in a fighter frame. Bolt 1 swerved hard to avoid the quick torrent of lethal lead.

"Ha! Is this what you feel, Aaron, just before you make the kill? This exhilaration, this euphoria?"

"Euphoria? Fuck you, Sturmoff. I'm not a killer like you."

"No? Well, that's your opinion… I imagine it's all the same. I certainly feel great! Goodbye, Thatcher!"

Aaron rolled back and forth, deploying flares, desperately flailing to keep the SF's gunsight off his jet. Every now and then a brief arc of tracers would flash by, and Bolt 1 would jink towards the other way. It wasn't working; Sturmoff was rapidly landing hits despite his target's maneuvers. Suddenly Makari's number two engine caught on fire, and almost in a panic he hurried to shut it down. Viktor was just about to finish him off.

"Bolt 1, break hard right! Fox 2!"

Instinctively Aaron did as commanded, for the voice was Sotoan; Sturmoff followed him through the turn, exposing his six to the Sahlert pilot who had just fired. Cursing, Star 7 veered off Makari's tail to avoid the missile.

"Damn… thanks."

"Anything for a fellow countryman. Anything…"

Bolt 1 saw that this was the third pilot of the Sahlert Squadron. His plane and his voice wavered as he burst out, "Get everyone out of here. We will deal with these devils!" It was all Aaron could do to keep from laughing at him. "How do you expect to survive?! Who are 'we?!'"

"Well… I don't. We don't," he added, and four more F-25Bs joined them—the men of the Sahlert Squadron. Makari looked over the five and shouted, "You're fools! Throwing your lives away?!" The men chuckled morosely. "Yes… in the end, all heroes are just fools who accomplished something! Remember that, and remember us… may we live on in the tales they will tell of our sacrifice, tales perhaps tantamount to those of the great Black Angel! Farewell, brother! Endure and triumph!"

At once the Sahlert Syphoners broke off and pursued those Stars which were on an allied fighter's tail. In one fell swoop they drove them off; the bandits regrouped and tried a concentrated attack. They were met by the five Sotoans' guns and missiles.

"Go! Be gone from here!"

Whoever was left now turned and fled eastward; the five men of the Sahlert fought off the Stars, attacking one when it achieved a lock on one of the fleeing aircraft. Despite being outnumbered and outgunned, they were putting up a tremendous effort to protect the ones they cared for—especially the six women who made up the rest of the Sahlert Squadron, and who wished to stay by their sides.

"Neil! I won't leave you! I can't!"

"Julie, please, get out of here… I do this so you all may live!"

"No… no! Seward, Greg, Tomas! Cyrus, you can't do this to us! Please!"

"Go! Alysia, Kate, there is no hope for you here! Leave, for us!"

With utmost reluctance the pilots turned their backs on these five. It wasn't long after their friends had reached safety that the men's efforts failed, and the Star Squadron ravaged them. Five more planes were shot down, five more pilots ejected, five more pilots were strafed, for a total of thirty-four dead.

Sturmoff cursed at the retreating ISAF aircraft. They had escaped the clutches of death for now. Suddenly satisfied with how well the battle had gone, Viktor grinned and laughed, "Today you live, Bolt, but when will you attack again? What will you do against nine of these fighters? Ace of aces—ha! The Ghost of the Seraph Aaron Thatcher has met his match!"


	24. Chapter 24: The Stars Revolt

* * *

"When the…angel sounded, a third…of the stars were struck, so that a third of them became dark." – Revelation, Ch. 8: 12-13

* * *

"Farbanti, this is Hermes 1, over."

"This is Farbanti International, we read you Hermes 1. Over."

"We're just off the coast. Why aren't the runway lights on?"

"We are unable to turn them on. Doing so would expose us to enemy bombers and artillery."

"Huh… Roger, you're going to have to guide us in, over."

The C-17 droned wearily overhead. In its cargo bay was the SF-2's saving grace—a spare engine just picked up from Wocken. The Erusian transport plane had flown off course, however, since all the lights in the capital city were out for safety. The runway too was blacked out. Having flown overnight from Wocken, the exasperated crew aboard the C-17 wished for nothing more than an easy landing and a soft bed. It seemed they wouldn't get the former.

"Hermes 1, you're over the municipal area currently. Adjust course northeast, over."

As the plane adjusted to its new bearing, flashes zipped by the cockpit of the plane, and the pilots' tired eyes strained to decipher what they were. The answer shook them wide awake.

"Tracers! We're being fired upon, Farbanti, please advise!"

Loud clangs met the aviators' ears; metal was colliding with metal.

"AAA from the city. They must think you're an enemy bomber. Ascend above the cloud level ASAP, over."

"Roger, climb—aah!"

The plane pitched violently to the right, and a deafening explosion tore through the cold night air. In the few seconds it had taken to have that simple discourse, the skies over the capital had become inundated with tracers and bullets. The aircraft had been hit many times, and an engine had erupted in flames on the right side.

"Shit! They took out an engine, Farbanti! Tell them to stop firing!"

"We have no radio contact with our forces in the city, over."

"Great! Just fucking great!"

Dipping because of the loss of its powerplant, the right wing caused the jet to slowly descend to an even more fatal altitude. More and more bullets struck the plane as it increased speed in an irreversible fall. The pilots were pinned helplessly around their cockpit by the G forces, having been uncomfortable with the harnesses on and therefore having taken them off. The ground was approaching fast, and the men aboard the cargo plane had a front row seat to their own demise.

"We are going down! Mayday, mayday, may-!"

Static filled the headphones of the Farbanti Air Traffic Controller. Slowly, timidly, the ATC lifted the phones from his ears and laid them on his desk. He knew what had happened to Hermes 1.

In the city, the unknowing defenders cheered as the enemy plane crashed into an abandoned skyscraper. Black glass and hot steel rained down upon them from the fiery red conflagration far above the streets. Victory.

* * *

One defeat, and the prospect of yet another. It was December 21st, and no one was in good spirits. Even though the Oseans had broken through the Munition Line and captured Dinsmark, they were still morose about having to capture Sudentor, not to mention first getting through the completed Production Line. The ISAF was discredited by its failure to capture the Erusian capital on the 12th. The air force too was hit hard, especially the Sotoan mercenaries: seven of the ten Sternlinach, all of the Emporuft, and the five brave men of the Sahlert perished when the Star Squadron shot them down and strafed them. The same was true for one of the Mobius pilots and several Yuke aviators. Though the Bolt had made it through unscathed, they were distressed by other news: the fatal fight between Jordan, Brian, and the Yellows.

Of the seven Yellows, all were shot down except one, and all survived except one. One was captured by retreating ISAF forces. The others fled from Farbanti to some unknown destination, abandoning their homeland to the jaws of the seemingly unstoppable enemy. But what they left in their wake was two dead pilots: Jordan Nelson and Zachery Taylor. Marshall himself had fought off five of the Yellows; an amazing achievement that paralleled what his hero had done once in the same skies. Now the Falcon and Pitch Squadrons had been reassigned away from Farbanti. The ISAF weren't going to let the other of their lead aces be killed by the nigh invincible Star Squadron or someone else. Aaron wondered when the next time he'd see Brian would be, if he ever did. No matter what happened, Makari was determined to survive, and especially to destroy those Starfighters. He would have his chance.

The next attack was about to begin. Reserve forces from around the continent had been pulled in to bolster the ground forces already laying siege to Farbanti. Most certainly the Stars would be there to defend their capital city once more. Only one hit had been scored on any of them, and that was Ericks' lucky shot that connected with the SF-2. How could Aaron expect to actually destroy these sturdy and agile fighters? Hope was scarce, and despair had gripped too many.

* * *

"This is AWACS Sky Eye to all pilots. Our troops are advancing, cover them. Air superiority fighters, there are just nine bandits airborne. Approach with extreme caution, over."

"This is Viper 8. There's nothing to worry about, Sky Eye."

Aaron nearly scoffed. Viper 8 was an ace, and a confident one. The Viper Squadron, along with Rapier and the Buran, Zenit, and Luch Yuktobanian Squadrons, had been dragged out of reserves for this mission. They hadn't yet faced the Starfighters everyone was talking about; they had no reason to fear them. Aaron was certain that by the end of the day all that would change.

"Omega Squadron will lead the intercept. Rapier, cover us from high. Viper, to our left. Bolt, cover us at low altitude, okay?"

"Roger that, Omega 1," Makari replied. That formation consisted of forty planes. To the unknowing pilots, it seemed a very one-sided battle in favor of the ISAF. Aaron was not one of these pilots.

"The enemy is approaching. All aircraft, they'll be in range in two minutes—wait… what?! They're firing! Break, break!"

Chaos once again broke out amongst the aviators. Launching attacks at this range?! Not even a Tomcat's Phoenix missiles could do such a job! "Here they come…!"

Seconds later, six missiles connected with six jets. The pilots never ejected, their crafts having been blown to smithereens by the powerful projectiles. An unknown voice laughed over the radio, "Dis is Star 9, confirmed kill on six bandits. Dis jet's a vonder, general."

Another voice, one all too familiar to the Bolt, came on next. "That it is, colonel. What say we show our friends over there a little hospitality?"

Viktor Sturmoff, once more, had risen to the defense of Farbanti. This time, however, it seemed there were even more Stars than before. The lead pilot was quick to point this out to the ISAF pilots who were already sighing. "This is Star 7 to the ISAAF! I'm surprised you idiots came back for more! Now you shall have to deal with perfection… all nine Starfighters of the Star Squadron!!"

More inbound missiles. The jets scrambled to evade, yet four more, the exact number of missiles fired, went down without parachutes. This sent the Viper pilots reeling. "They'll kill us all if we don't get them first! All Vipers, forward!"

"No, you fools! Stay away from them!"

It was too late. Eleven Typhoons shot forward on full thrust. Eleven burning Typhoons fell from the sky mere minutes later once engaged by the SFs. Viktor couldn't control himself. "Hahaha!! Wonderful! Not only does Asche _massacre _ten of 'em by himself, but we all get another eleven just to play with!! I love this job, don't you all?"

Aaron gritted his teeth as something became clear: all of the initial ten missiles were launched by one plane. One. Whatever these two new fighters were, they clearly had to be the best of the squadron. Bolt 1 couldn't resist trying to talk Sturmoff into another ramble about the SFs. "So Star 7, got some new toys? Mind explaining 'em to us like the other seven?"

Laughing came over the radio—Aaron could tell Sturmoff was smiling. "I'd be _delighted_ to, Aaron! Why… oh! That's right… hahaha!!"

Viktor started to laugh uncontrollably, finally getting himself together to boast, "Aaron, Ericks, and anyone else in the Bolt Squadron, I've got a surprise especially for you…" He spoke to one of his wingmen, "Star 8, these five you've heard about, they actually are your students!" A different voice talked over the radio, laughing nearly as hard as Sturmoff had been. "Is that so? Which ones? Aaron and Ericks! Why, I remember those numbskulls… Why hello Seraph! It's me, Dieter Rote!"

Each New ISAF pilot listened carefully and was rather confused by what was going on, yet the Bolt knew exactly what this entailed. Star 8 was Dieter Rote, one of their instructors from so long ago at Spire! This revelation shocked them beyond all belief. This squadron of superfighters had proved to only astound them more and more.

"Let's not wait any longer, Sturmoff. I want to know if my students have earned the title they've claimed… 'the best!'" "Roger that, eight. Star Squadron, engage at will!"

At long last the Stars came into view. Nine there were indeed; six were coming straight on and the other three had climbed. The Bolt Squadron, flying so low, went unnoticed by the Starfighters as they began their slaughter. Aaron almost ordered his wingmen to join the fray, but stopped when he saw the three high up SFs attacking with long range missiles with deadly accuracy.

"Bolt Squadron, those three Stars up there are causing some real damage! We've got to stop them!"

Ascending as rapidly as possible, the five zoomed past the furball to meet the three other bandits head on. Aaron nearly gasped; one was trailing smoke. It was the SF-2, hit by Ericks during the last attack. It hadn't been fixed yet? Aaron knew he could take advantage of this. All it would take is for his wingmen to distract the other two SFs.

"Bolt 2 and 4, attack that fighter there on the right! Bolt 3 and 5, distract that one highest up!"

Selecting the SF-2 for himself, Aaron split from formation. Rote's voice suddenly chuckled at him. "Trying to distract me, eh? Aaron, Ericks, and who else? C'mon guys, we're dogfighting, might as well know who I'm fighting…" Makari scoffed, then figured he might as well. What difference would it make? "Arthur Richardson, Daniel Barr, and Johnathan Davis. Those're the ones who are going to kick your ass, Rote!"

Bolt 1 pulled onto the SF-2's tail. The engine was what was belching smoke; it wasn't firing, but rather kept coughing out black smog, a sure sign it needed a replacement. While he twisted through tight turns and high speed dives and climbs, Dieter's voice haunted Aaron.

"The SF-8 and 9 are the newest additions to the squadron. The SF-8 is Sturmoff's personal plane, the most perfect dogfighter in existence. You could never hope to beat it, Aaron."

As he missed with another missile shot, Makari was pestered once again. "The SF-9 is the ultimate in long range, as your dead friends have seen! Nothing can beat its range, target acquisition, or lethal accuracy! Of course, my SF-7 is a similar model, Aaron. You five are facing the long range fighters of our squad! The SF-2, SF-7, and SF-9!" By repeating Makari's name, Rote really made it seem to Aaron that he was speaking directly and only to him. It vexed Bolt 1 to no end, though he did not know why. Perhaps it was nostalgia; Rote had always belittled him in flight school. Aaron was ready to show Rote he was no pushover, and never had been!

"Shut up! Shut up, damn you! I am the best, and we all know it! Just watch this!"

Bolt 1 fired an AMRAAM; the SF-2 dived, its pilot, Ivan Mikhail, flooring the acceleration. Quickly the Star lost Aaron and his projectile, and Dieter doubled up in laughter. "Better luck next time, eh rookie?" The SF-7 was directly above him. In his anger, Aaron blindly jerked the stick back and climbed, opening up with Vulcan fire. Several bullets struck the aft wing of the Star, but little else. Still, Rote snickered and mocked. "A few dents, nothing compared to those silly Typhoons and F-15s from earlier…"

The Star disappeared, its brilliant mobility moving it away from the danger of Aaron's gunsight. Realizing that fight would be hopeless, Aaron abandoned Rote in favor of the SF-2 again. It had returned from its brief speedy retreat, and was launching more missiles at the ISAF jets, who were rapidly falling apart under heavy fire from the six other SFs. Makari was just pulling up behind the fighter when he noticed something was off. The Star now had two wings… where had the others gone? Suddenly the bandit noticed him, and it shifted direction. The plane must have been slowing down, for Aaron had to slam on the brakes to stay behind it. That's when he saw the strangest thing about these fighters: the Starfighter's aft wings' leading edges opened up in the front; the forward wings slid out and locked in their normal position. It was something Bolt 1 had only seen from the X-02 Wyvern, yet these fighters' whole wings switchbladed into the others!

Distracted by this phenomenon, Makari lost the SF. He frantically scanned the skies for sign of it (its thick smoke was usually a good indication of which way it had gone), only to spot it attacking _another_ group of ISAF aircraft. Aaron had had enough.

"This is for everyone, you bastard… FOX 3!!"

Mikhail whipped his head around, caught a glimpse of the jet on his tail, and throttled up again to escape… too late. The good engine on the SF took a direct hit, exploding in flames. Another eruption tore through the fuselage, breaking it into fragments. Ivan Mikhail's cold voice was never heard again. Aaron and the others couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Holy man… You… y-you did it, Thatcher! Er, I mean, Makari! You bagged one!"

"Amazing! Simply amazing, Aaron!"

More conspicuous than his wingmen's cheers was Rote's silence. The SF-2 had gone down, and its pilot was definitely dead too, Aaron had watched it fall. At once he whipped his jet after the SF-7 and shouted, "One reaps what one sows! And I'm the reaper, Rote! Do you want to be next?!" The SF barrel-rolled over Bolt 1, heading to the main battle, the SF-9 by its side. Both were excellent aircraft, and had avoided the other Bolt pilots without a scratch. The Bolt watched anxiously as the eight Starfighters disengaged the few ISAF survivors and turned on them. They had committed a _sin_ against them, and now the full might of the Stars was upon them.

"Star 7 to all planes. It's time we stopped playing nice with the Bolt Squadron, for it seems that they've stopped playing nice… Mikhail is burning down there because of them. Show them no mercy."

The Stars broke formation once more, two ascending and two descending, two splitting off in opposite direction, and Sturmoff and another coming head on. It was a familiar tactic to the Bolt, for they'd seen it at least three times now. The jets accelerating directly towards them were introduced by Viktor as the SF-8 and 9. Aaron decided it was best to keep away from those Stars and chose another one of the higher SFs as the next target. "Bolt Squadron, take out that SF up there! Use tactic… uh, Sphynx!"

Somewhat unfortunately for Aaron's plan, the others had no idea what he was talking about. They watched as he climbed rapidly out of sight on full afterburner.

"What tactic, man? Rich, know what he means?"

"No idea, should we ask?"

"Nah. Let's just get the SF up there!"

As the four Bolt engaged what was the SF-4 (and the other Starfighters swirled around them), Aaron reached the apex of his climb and pulled the stick back. Gently arcing backwards, he inverted and began a dive from nearly sixty thousand feet. Pushing mach 3, the Syphoner shot back towards earth. The distant specks that were his allies and enemies came closer and closer. He was still locked on to the SF-4, which had noticed him. It was increasing its speed, but not fast enough. In a flash Aaron was past, pulling up, decelerating, and ordering his comrades to run for it, while four missiles he had fired sailed down from the heavens at the Star. Three connected, smashing into the wings, then the engines, and the last into the fuselage. The SF-4 was utterly eviscerated.

"HAHA!! These bastards _can_ be beat, man!!"

"Oh. So that's what he meant. Attack from above, like over the 'Sphynx…' Still, he expected us to know what he meant by that?!"

Sturmoff was livid. In minutes, the tide had turned. _His_ squadron had been massacring the ISAF craft. Now _ISAF fighters_ were taking chunks out of _his_ squadron. Both Mikhail and Behrendt were gone, as far as he could tell. And he wasn't about to let them get away with this. Expecting to see them still fighting, he was shocked to see the five Bolt Syphoners running. Reinforcements were covering their retreat. Over everyone else on the radio, Viktor bellowed, "ROTE! SHOOT THEM DOWN AT ONCE!!"

Rising above the massive group of Yuke jets now attacking the Stars, Rote took aim and fired. He was just out of range of three of the Bolt, but two… He had to wait and see.

The missiles became little red dots on the horizon, hungrily chasing down the two fighters. Dieter observed gleefully as they banked hard to evade, yet were struck down by the missiles. Two of the Bolt had gone down; which ones he did not know, nor did he care. Right then more Yukes appeared on his tail, and he was forced to give up any ideas of pursuing the other three.

* * *

"Sir… General Sturmoff, sir…"

"Send that _bastard_ in at once!!"

Viktor walked slowly into the Minister's office. He looked around but did not see the leader there. All of a sudden, the door slammed shut behind him, and the office shook a bit. Sturmoff jumped a little, and wheeled around to see the Minister's infuriated eyes burning into his own. "Sit."

The general raced to his seat. The Minister strolled by, lingering behind Sturmoff's chair before taking a chair himself. "Explain."

Taking a deep breath, Viktor braced himself for the storm his story would bring. "Well… the SF-2 and 4 were shot down by the same Bolt pilot. The SF-2 was-"

"Which Bolt pilot, Sturmoff?" the Erusian leader interrupted. Viktor blanked out for a few seconds, then lied, "I… I don't know sir." Sturmoff knew that it had been Aaron Thatcher, yet he was sure that telling the Minister that the best pilot Erusea had trained was now annihilating their other best would not improve his situation. Instead, he continued with his explanation, and the Minister did not interrupt again.

"The SF-2 was still critically damaged from the previous engagement, and so its performance was not up to par. On the other hand, the SF-4 was in peak condition. Zhurmik Behrendt was one of the most experienced pilots in the FEAF, let alone my squadron… But the Bolt Squadron is just as well-trained and experienced, it seems. Even with an eight to five disadvantage they were able to pull off a tactic that brought the SF-4 into Thatch—er, _that_ Bolt pilot's gunsight. Both Behrendt and Mikhail have perished, sir…"

Seated with his hands outstretched onto the desk in front of him, the Minister had not moved since he sat down. Of all the times Viktor had disappointed him, this was the worst by far. He had had enough of Sturmoff, and the general could tell by his leader's eyes that he might snap at any second. Viktor averted his eyes from the Minister's baleful gaze, but there was nothing he could do to stop the terrible thoughts from entering his head: "The Minister has a 9mm in his desk, in the middle left drawer… I assassinated a general to claim my current rank, why shouldn't he kill me, then? … If he reaches for that drawer, could I bring myself to defend myself with my own gun…?"

The Minister moved his hands, interlocking his fingers and placing his elbows on the desk. Viktor's attention was drawn at once to this movement, but the general relented when the hands made no motion towards the drawer. "So Sturmoff, continue," the Minister's cold voice drawled. It was clear he didn't want Viktor to keep talking, but rather to simply vanish. "What became of the enemy pilots?"

A cold sweat broke out on the back of the general's neck. He especially did not want to report _this_ to the Prime Minister.

"Aah, yes… The battle, well, ahem… Two of the five bandits were shot down, including the one who-"

"_Two_?! Just two of five?! Were either at least killed?!"

"Well, we tried to aim for the cockpit and strafe them, however… (the Minister sighed with disgust)… I believe… neither was killed." Viktor had lied again to try and save some face. However, it had the opposite effect. The Minister sat in stunned and vehement silence. His rage at Sturmoff's incompetence was boiling over. This was the final straw; the general's last chance, gone.

"God damn you… God damn you…" The Minister rose from his seat slowly, trembling with wrath. "I made you into what you are, Sturmoff! I gave you every fucking thing you needed or asked for! I sacrificed so much for your goddamned _hunger_ for _power_!! And how the hell do you repay me?!" His leader towering over him, Viktor could only cower in his chair. Nothing could save him the torment of the Minister's pent-up anger.

"No longer, Sturmoff! No fucking longer will I lead you by… your _filthy_ hand! Get your worthless, dirty ass out of my office before I shoot you dead!!" Viktor was paralyzed by fear. He couldn't move, though every fiber of his being longed to. "GO!!" At last, the general was able to rise. He stumbled out of the office, past the Minister's secretary. The Erusian leader screamed after him, "You're through, Sturmoff!! THROUGH!! General of the Air Force… General no more!!"

Viktor ran. And ran. And ran. He did not stop until he reached his wingmen's rooms. Pounding on their doors he bellowed, "Get your things, Edith! Borislav! Rote! … We're going, Sanders! Get out here, Zumtod! Get to your damned SFs, we're officially no longer a member of this godforsaken military! _We_ are going to Wocken! _Fuck_ the Prime Minister _and_ this war!"

* * *

"All pilots to the flight line. Operation Winter Thunder will be recommencing in one hour. Participating aviators are to take off immediately and rendezvous at their assigned sectors."

Aaron strolled up to his F-25A Syphon. Having been shot down in the last battle, he and Ericks needed replacement jets, and the F-25A was it. The Syphon, more of a fighter than the multirole Syphoner, was a better dogfighter. It was this jet he was hoping he would be able to use to defeat the last six Starfighters, especially Rote, whom he was sure had fired the shots that got him and Ericks, nearly killing them both. The replacements were already painted in the same scheme the Bolt had been using throughout the year.

Despite the rush implied in the tower's announcement, there was little point for the five Bolt pilots to rush anywhere, as the runways were flooded with planes taking off already. It would be awhile before they got off the ground. Even so, Davis and Barr ran to their fighters to get out of the biting, cold December air. Aaron stepped around his aircraft, checking it, when he was hit from behind by something cold. It was a snowball, thrown by Ericks. He smirked, joking, "Oh, that did it! You're a dead man!" The two dropped what they were doing and began a snowball fight. Other nearby pilots laughed and stopped to watch.

"Tch. Look at them," Richardson said aloud, "Just four days ago and they thought they wouldn't live to see today! The Christmas mood really does-"

A snowball out of the blue scored a direct hit on Arthur's face mid-sentence. He wiped the snow off, identified Ericks as the culprit, and charged to a snowdrift to return fire. Indeed, the destruction of two SFs was a significant accomplishment, and every pilot's hopes were renewed by the Bolt Squadron's victory, as had they had been so many times before. It was Christmas, and everyone was sure that _this_ time, Operation Winter Thunder would go right.

* * *

"Sky Eye to all aircraft, you know the drill. There are thirteen bandits airborne. Two are above the Farbanti International Airport. You fighters engage and destroy them all. Attackers, your targets are at vectors 0-6-5 and 3-5-4."

The ISAF aircraft dispersed, the ground-pounders reluctantly leaving the relative safety of the air superiority fighters. There were probably still some Stars out there, and each pilot (except for Bolt 1) was hoping he would not be the one to find them.

The Bolt Squadron headed for the two bandits hovering about the airport while Mobius 3, Omega 9, Omega 1, and several other aces backed them up. They kept their distance, however, having learned not to get involved with the SFs if they came across them, but rather to run. It wasn't a very honorable tactic, but it kept them alive. Sure enough, when the small group of fighters drew close, a voice called out to them:

"Ah! Here come the five now! Hail, Bolt Squadron and New ISAF aces!"

It was Rote's voice. The two bandits were Starfighters. At once Bolt 1 gave his backup the order to retreat. The Bolt Squadron would proceed alone. They overheard Rote's conversation with a certain someone as they did.

"Sturmoff, hurry up and get on out of here. They won't let you leave if you don't," Dieter spoke again. Viktor came on the radio next. "Right. What about you and Asche?" Dieter laughed. "You actually care about that Belkan, Sturmoff?" "No, but I do care about my SF-9." Rote laughed again. "I'll see to it that he follows soon. _I_ am going to test my students, Sturmoff… I will see you later."

Apparently Viktor did not like the idea. He yelled at his wingman, "You're a damned fool, Rote! Do you think they'll fight you one-by-one like you want?! We don't have to fight them anymore, let's just get out of here!"

Star 8 chuckled. "Calm down, Sturmoff. I know everything about these five. If anyone can defeat them one on one, or, if need be, one on five… it's me. You know that. So go on ahead and I'll catch up." Relenting, Viktor spoke not another word but turned west and accelerated. Aaron watched his radar as the SF-8, piloted by the ex-general, raced away at an astounding speed. There was no point in even trying to stop him. They would have to deal with the Star before them first. Its pilot, their trusted instructor from so many years ago, called out to them again.

"This is Dieter Rote to the Bolt Squadron. I congratulate you five on surviving so long in this war! My, my, my… destroying the 'Sphynx,' shooting down two SFs, even defeating your sister squadrons many times…! You've done so much and learned so well. I can't say I'm not proud of you all, actually… However, your part in this tale is over. I am going to kill you one-by-one. Come, let me see how much you've learned…"

Ericks scoffed. "So, he wants us to challenge him one on one? Man, is he stupid. Get him, Aaron!"

Bolt 1 didn't reply, but remained focused as he accelerated towards the SF-7. The others hung back and waited with bated breath for the spectacle to begin—the best pilot they knew against his trainer.

"Well, I get to fight the very best first? This is something I've been waiting for since the last battle, Aaron… Show me your skill."

The SF-7 shot past Bolt 1, who turned hard while applying the brakes to get on its tail. Unsurprisingly, the bandit had disappeared by the time the Syphon pulled through its turn. Aaron was used to the Stars' amazing mobility, and climbed to find Rote. He knew his former instructor loved ascending and attacking from above, a tactic he taught to the Devils. Sure enough, Star 8 was there, waiting for Makari.

"Watch out now, Thatcher! Fox 3!"

Bolt 1 jerked the stick hard to evade the missile. Rote shot by him and started to climb again. Veering after him, Aaron launched a projectile of his own and called, "Fox 2!" The missile leapt at the SF-7, but it accelerated quickly, leaving the missile behind, to fall harmlessly to earth. "Damn it," Aaron cursed, "This is going to be tough."

Throttling up to catch the escaping SF, Makari tried to lock onto it again for another shot. Suddenly, the Starfighter cut off its afterburners, braked hard, and pulled a move remarkably similar to a Cobra. Aaron zoomed right on past him, having not seen the maneuver coming.

"Ooh, too bad Thatcher. A simple deceleration and you're in my gunsights. Haven't you learned anything at all these past few years? Guns!"

That powerful Titan gun roared to life, and Bolt 1 knew he had to move out of the way. Pitching his nose up and pulling the stick back as far as he could, the F-25A quickly inverted and zipped right past Rote. Though he took some hits to his fins, Aaron had avoided a lethal blow from the 30mm rounds. He breathed a sigh of relief and arced around to find his adversary. Ericks cheered from somewhere, "You got him, man! Just take it easy and cool like always!"

Makari _was_ cool and calm, and he knew he could do this. Rote was coming head on, and Aaron was in range of his longer range missiles. Still, Dieter seemed to be conserving them in case he needed to escape or something. He was resorting to using short range projectiles only. Bolt 1 himself had long range missiles he could use, and he saw a plan formulating in his mind's eye. Yes, he would use long range tactics to defeat Rote.

Veering left, Makari launched one of his projectiles and increased his speed, running from Rote for now. The SF-7 barrel-rolled over the missile and kept coming, on Aaron's tail. It was gaining on him, and he knew he had to act now. Cutting the throttle back and turning once again towards Star 8, Bolt 1 began firing his long range missiles. One, then wait a few seconds… then another, wait… another, then wait… The shots kept Rote at bay, but missed every time. That wasn't the point though. Accelerating once more, Aaron closed on the SF, pulling onto its tail. He didn't hold back with his missiles. "Fox 3, fox 3!!"

Several Sidewinders sprang forth from the Syphon's internal weapon bays and chased down Rote. One detonated nearby, but the rest were distracted by flares and the bandit's rapid evasion techniques. The damage was light, but enough to do… something to the fighter. The switchblading wings stopped operating properly, and were separating even at a high speed. (Curiously, Aaron noted that the aft wings had swept into the forward ones, the opposite of the SF-2's system.) Rote cussed over the radio, "This damn fighter! One little bit of damage and you go all screwy on me!" Whatever Aaron had done, it was to his advantage.

He clung to Star 8's tail, pulling hairpin turns and racking up the Gs, but still managing to follow the agile bandit. Makari knew he could end it here. He just had to focus the gunsight over the large craft in front of him. But with Rote swinging this way and that, it was near impossible. He would have to just fire and hope for the best. "Guns, guns!"

Bullet after bullet fired from the Vulcan, and bullet after bullet missed the Star. Hoping to escape, Dieter pulled his jet to the right—a nearly fatal mistake. A lucky shot pierced the Starfighter's cockpit, slicing right into its pilot's left arm. Screaming in pain and anger, Rote released the controls and clutched a hand to his wound. Unsuccessfully he tried to control the fighter and apply pressure to the bleeding hole in his arm. Aaron quickly took advantage of the situation. "Fox 2!"

This missile connected. Smashing dead on into the engines of the SF-7, it erupted, sending shrapnel all throughout the plane. The Star burst into flames and began to drop out of the sky. Chuckling and coughing, Rote's voice drifted over the radio. He sounded different—crushed, defeated, beaten by his own student. "Heh heh heh… amazing, Aaron. That didn't take you long at all. I suspect any one of you five could have done this if you had to… I trained you well. Heh… You got me, but I ain't going to be captured, no way in hell…"

Burning, the SF-8 streaked down towards the airport, crashing into the field next to the runway and flooding it with flames. Dieter had made up his mind well before his fight with Aaron: if he was shot down, he would not eject. Not wanting to subject himself to life as an ISAF POW, he went through with his grim plan. There, the roaring, fiery crater, was Dieter Rote's final resting place.

Aaron heaved a sigh of relief. It was over. It was over, and he had emerged as the better of the two, and survived. There were no more bandits in the air (his allies had swept them up rather quickly; surely they must not have been very skilled enemy pilots), no more Starfighters to deal with. Wherever they had gone, Bolt 1 was extremely glad that they were there and not here. His wingmen flew over to him and cheered him. "Man! That was awesome, Aaron! You got him in just _minutes_!" "Our flight lead is invincible! The Stars aren't!" Makari smiled, and simply replied, "Thanks guys…" The five could not be in higher spirits and hopes; the ISAF ground forces were rolling into the city. Close air support aircraft covered their advancements. Today, on the third attempt, the Stars had been defeated and Farbanti had been overthrown and captured at last.


	25. Chapter 25: Ashes of Former Glory

* * *

"When he broke open the…seal, I heard the…creature cry out, 'Come forward.' Another horse came out, a red one. Its rider was given power to take peace away from the earth, so that people would slaughter one another. And he was given a huge sword." – Revelation, Ch. 6: 3-5

* * *

"Prime Minister sir? You… you wanted to see me…?"

The young major entered the chamber to find the head of the Erusian Republic facing out a window, staring at nothing in particular. He walked cautiously to the Minister's side and looked at his face. The leader's eyes glowed, reflecting the light from the enemy's tracers and artillery rockets that were pummeling the city outside where Erusian resistance still persisted. The officer stood in awkward silence as the Minister ignored him. Outside, a mortar attack rained explosions from unseen locations onto a cluster of soldiers. The Minister observed the annihilation of those men—Erusians—in silence. Finally, the Erusian leader turned around slowly, off-balanced, almost as if he had aged a hundred years in that one instant. His face was gaunt and pale, and clashed with his yet lively eyes.

"Mr. Aleksei," the Minister's frail voice quivered, "I hereby promote you to the rank of General of the Air Force."

The new general gave quite a start, but the Minister held up his hand so he could continue.

"Kiril, look here. Look at me. Just some months ago, I was at the top of the world. No, I was the top of the world! I had it all… the continent, the 'Sphynx,' the best pilots, navy, and army, and plans for the most perfect fighter jets and superweapon! But now…"

He sighed and turned back to the window. Aleksei took a seat, aware of the fact that he might be here for a while, and the Minister talked on, unheeding.

"But now, I've lost almost everything. We've been driven back, the 'Sphynx' has been destroyed, my best aces are dead, my army is nothing but a small garrison right now, all the battleships of my Tanager-class now lie on the ocean floor… and now even the Stars have fallen out of my hands…"

Despite being a major of the FEAF (albeit, now a general), Kiril knew scarcely anything about the Starfighters. He listened intently for a possible explanation, but none came.

"Viktor Sturmoff… the ex-lead general whom you are replacing, has betrayed me. He's abandoned us here at Farbanti to save his own ass. _And_ that damn ISAF bastard has already shot down three of my beautiful SFs! Now five more have flown off under Sturmoff's command to some island or something, where someone's helping them escape… and if I find out who, I'll…! I'll…"

For a moment, a hint of the Minister's old, cocky self had pierced through in his wrath, but it soon drowned once more in the harsh reality of the bunker. His voice fell still lower, fading out completely. It was another long time before he spoke to Aleksei again, but he muttered things like, "If only I had started the Mega projects sooner…" and "If only I still had Taylor, still had Rhodes… hell, I'd even take Thatcher or Jones now…"

The Minister addressed the young Erusian before him at last, "Aleksei. You know of Megafloat?"

"Of course sir. I'm third in command there. Although… with your promotion, I'll be in first."

"Good… You see, that is the only thing I have left. It is the only hope for our beautiful homeland now. I lost our free nation to the enemy, yet you can reclaim it. Please, Aleksei, launch it. It is time."

Kiril hesitated. "And you, sir?"

"I… I've got to go… I've been suffocating in the ashes of former glory for too long… I betrayed my countrymen the second those little ISAF shits stepped on our soil. Now I must make my amends, and you must make yours. Goodbye, Aleksei, and have a nice launch."

Now Aleksei rose and began to leave the office, yet stopped just before closing the door for one last word.

"Sir… wherever you may go… Godspeed."

"Yes, Aleksei… Godspeed…"

The new General of the Air Force shut the door firmly behind him and set off down the hall. He flinched at the sound of a gunshot that resounded through the hallway, haunting his footsteps. It was fleeting, and as soon as it sounded it vanished. It flooded Aleksei's mind, but he kept walking.

* * *

"Ah! Ambush! Retreat!"

Blaze gritted his teeth. The Oseans on Operation Picket Fence were flailing in their assault on the Production Line. The Belkans had molded a lethal combination of minefields, machine gun nests, and barbed wire into a dizzying and deadly maze. The Razgriz were providing air support all over the place for the embattled troops, but there was only so much they could accomplish.

"Help! They're everywhere!" "Unit A was just completely wiped out!"

The pilots could do little to aid the struggling forces on the ground. Those unfortunate souls were being easily picked off by a horde of Belkan snipers and marksmen.

"Damn it! I can't stand just listening to them getting killed!" Blaze shouted in sheer rage.

"Captain, I hate it too, but what can we do?!"

Blaze didn't reply to Archer, but rather dove suddenly on a field. He had noticed that this was a minefield. "Pickle!" One bomb fell from the Syphoner's wing to the hardened earth below. As it impacted, it set off a chain explosion of the mines—huge chunks of earth burst into the air and fell on even more of the hidden traps. The blasts rocked the troops on the ground.

"Whoa! That guy's crazy! Is he trying to kill us too?!" "Who cares! We've got a hole to break through. Go, go!"

The Oseans surged forward. An enemy bunker on the far side of the field opened fire, but Nagase soon silenced it. "Target destroyed!" The soldiers managed to press forwards with their vehicles now too. The tanks obliterated all immediate opposition.

"Company D advancing with the Razgriz' help." "Damn, it's hard to walk in craters." "Shut up, Rockwell."

The platoon was almost out of the line. All that remained now was a group of bunkers. As the men moved towards these positions, enemy fire erupted all around them.

"Oh no, another ambush!" "They're got pillboxes on all sides! We're in a crossfire!"

Blaze cursed. The enemy was so close to his allies that he couldn't use missiles or bombs against the bunkers; there would be too many friendly casualties.

"Edge, Archer, Swordsman! Strafe these posts! Use only guns!" "Wilco!"

The four F-25s each chose a target and fired their Vulcans. They flew past the bunkers and circled around for to confirm the damage dealt. The pillboxes were very solid and deep in the ground, however, and so were extremely difficult to destroy from the air.

"They're still firing! Allies are suffering heavy casualties!" "Damn, take another shot at it!" Once more the Razgriz tried unsuccessfully to hit the targets. They were quickly becoming agitated. Blaze's focus wavered, and he found himself completely missing with his shots. "This is a waste! We aren't doing anything!" Pitching up, he headed away from the encircles tanks. He then turned around and accelerated, arming one of his freefall bombs.

"Blaze, what are you-?!"

Before Kei could finish her sentence, Blaze, flying at an extremely low altitude, released the bomb. It glided straight into one of the bunkers, guided by the aircraft's speed. The entire pillbox imploded.

"Hot damn! Nice shot Razgriz!" "Five bunkers remaining, keep down!"

The other three pilots followed their lead's example. Each bomb cleared out each bunker, blowing out the back walls as the projectiles impacted them and detonated. The Belkans inside were instantaneously incinerated.

"All targets destroyed! W-we're alive!" "Whew… can't believe we survived that!"

Blaze breathed a sigh of relief. They had saved this company. It had taken just a few minutes to do so, but it had seemed like hours. All the forces were exhausted, especially the Razgriz.

"We took at least forty percent casualties here… We're weaker, but we can still fight!" "We've finally busted through the line! Yeah!"

The Razgriz cheered with the survivors of company D. It was not over, though. "Now that we're out, we can go back in. Hit 'em from behind!" "Heh, alright… Back into hell we go!" "This time _we're_ the devils!"

Blaze smiled. It had been a long fight so far. The end was still so far away, guarded carefully by more grueling skirmishes and conflicts with the Belkan Army. But now, they had broken out of the maze. It was just a matter of time now. It was just a matter of time before the Production Line fell too.

* * *

"Major Aleksei, welcome back. I trust your meeting with the Prime Minister went well?"

The young officer stared into his ex-superior's eyes. He scoffed, "Sure. Just don't expect any more orders from him or Farbanti. _And_, I'm in command here now. The Minister promoted me to General of the Air Force." Kiril showed the official his stripes, then jeered, "And if I remember ranks correctly, that's higher than yours."

Aleksei strolled past the stunned man. The general had taken on the Minister's wrathful ways, and he was ready to do what his leader had asked him to do. He called for a report on the aircraft Megafloat, and an aide ran to his side.

"Sir?"

"How much time will it take to launch the XAM-100A?"

"Hmm… most of the weaponry's on board. We just need to get fuel and everyone else on too. They're loading the Mega-class missiles now."

"How much _time_ damn it, not how much there is to do," Kiril growled. The aide apologized and corrected himself, "S-sorry sir… about, uh… two weeks? We still need to get supplies on board and mobilize an escort…"

"Yeah, yeah!" Aleksei interrupted, waving the officer's words away with his hand, "I'll give you one week. I plan to meet the escort at sea. Dismissed!" The general continued past the other men on the dock. The ship in which he had arrived departed once more, heading for its home port in Wocken. Kiril came to the doors of the massive hangar. These now encased the craft's wings as work progressed on them; the fuselage lay entirely in the open air. From the outside, it was difficult to distinguish what was Megafloat and what was the hangar; both were the same rusty red color. Upon entering, Aleksei observed hundreds of people scaling the behemoth wing, putting finishing touches on it. Sneering at the uncompleted work, he hurried to his office to make an announcement. His voice boomed throughout the hangar on loudspeakers:

"Attention workers, this is General of the Air Force Kiril Aleksei, now first in command of this operation. Our time has come at last—begin preparations for launch immediately. I give you all one week at most to complete construction and be ready for our mission. The Minister has spoken. Also, I… I regret to be the bearer of this news… Erusea has fallen to the enemy. Our secrecy here is as of yet uncompromised, but do not expect it to last. We must work as hard and fast as possible. That is all."

Aleksei put the speaker's microphone down and turned to a nearby officer. "See to it that that message is broadcast everywhere on this island," he ordered, "and get our intelligence unit working on finding those rat bastards—those _traitors_ who abandoned Farbanti! Find where the Starfighter pilots are hiding!"

* * *

"Attention all Erusian troops! Cease fighting and surrender at the following: the Central Park tennis courts, what's left of the National Library's courtyard fountain, the southern end of Johnson Memorial Bridge…"

General Andrews gazed out at the ruins of the city. The once proud Erusian capital had been reduced to rubble and ashes by constant artillery shelling. The once invincible Star Squadron had been cut done by a third, and the rest had fled. Much of the enemy army had surrendered, but a few small garrisons still resisted in darkened corners of debris-littered Farbanti. Now the liberating ISAF army had come to finish the job and the war.

"Hit that position with mortars!" "Incoming! Get down!"

Frenetic chatter and explosions filled the radio waves. The general was overseeing the battlefield from the highest undamaged building in the city (which still was only three stories tall). A rather large Erusian contingent had formed at the base of the building, surrounding it and attempting to capture it. The ISAF soldiers had blockaded themselves in the first floor lobby.

"Watch out! They're got flamethrowers!" "Eric! Toss your grenades over there!" "The enemy's advancing, open fire!" "Reinforcements! We need reinforcements!"

Andrews listened to this last message in particular. "Let's go! Arm yourselves! We're heading down to join the fight!" Overall, there were about twenty ISAF soldiers left; the Erusians seemed to be everywhere.

"RPG incoming!!" "Take that bastard out!"

The general and his men descended into chaos. The lobby was being shredded by enemy explosives and machine gun fire. He directed his men to strengthen the middle of the line and the right flank, noticing a few drop dead on their way to these areas.

"Shit, sniper! Sniper in that rubble!" "Grenades away! Down!"

The entire pile of debris erupted as the bombs detonated. Large rocks and pieces were blasted into the sky, and they fell on Erusian positions, crushing many of the men there.

"Holy shit! That got 'em!" "Their flank's wide open, charge!"

The ISAF soldiers rushed through the hole in the defense. They came around the rubble to find dozens of dazed Erusians spread everywhere, unsure of what had just happened. Taking advantage of the situation, the ISAF had no mercy.

"Fire, shoot 'em!" The general dropped enemy after enemy with his 9mm, and eventually the opposition pulled back into cover. "Don't let 'em retreat! Pursue them!"

The troops climbed over the debris to find the Erusians cowering in a corner with no where to go, their hands raised, their weapons thrown upon the scorched ground. "What the hell…?" one of the ISAF's own muttered. An enemy soldier advanced slowly, saying clearly, "We surrender! We have run out of ammunition and orders are to die fighting. I will not kill my men by sending them into enemy fire."

The ISAF general swaggered forward warily. "It's an honorable move on your part. Men, detain them and take them to the building. You have your victory!" The triumphant soldiers cheered and led the new POWs to the building's second floor. The general returned to the roof with his escort.

"How many of them did we get?"

"About thirty or so, sir."

"Heh. Alright! So how's it going with the other units?" the general asked.

"Company E has captured around fifteen enemy soldiers. Company A is engaging others as we speak. Company B is still on patrol."

"What of units C and D?"

"D was wiped out in an ambush. C is fighting those ambushers now. In fact…"

The officer walked over to the radio on a makeshift desk. He picked up the phone and called, "Company C commander, come in. Repeat, company C commander, this is HQ, report."

There was a long pause before anyone answered. "This is Sergeant Berrin, unit C commander. Go ahead, HQ." "Report your status, Berrin."

"We survived the ambush that got company D, and took out the enemy soldiers. Captured at least fifty or so! Afterwards, we found an enemy bunker on the edge of the city. It was filled with Erusian officers and the like, very high ranks all around. They put up quite a fight. Must have lost at least ten guys… but we found something. In one of the rooms we discovered some guy's corpse with _really_ big rank insignias, and I mean _big._ This guy… he must have been the Prime Minister!"

"W-what?! That's… amazing! But, do leaders of the country have insignias?"

"Er… I meant identifications, I guess, or something… Anyway, he's got a wound in the head—looks like a 9mm round. There's a gun too. He either killed himself or was assassinated."

"Roger. I'll inform GHQ! Very well done Berrin, carry on!" "Sir!"

The official turned back to the general with a smile. Andrews himself, having overheard the sergeant's thrilled shouts, returned it before racing down the building's stairs to the lobby and exclaiming to his men, "Gentlemen, the city is ours!!"

* * *

"Sir. It's done at last. We are ready, boarding's beginning now."

Kiril smiled. This was the news he had been waiting for. He rose from his desk and walked out of his office. Men were all around the two, taking apart the hangars that still covered the wings. Aleksei noticed that a christening ceremony was in progress, officially declaring this beast 'Megafloat.' The general took a moment to take it all in.

In a space of just months, the 'Erusian Mega Projects Team' had restored six Stonehenge turrets to operational status, constructed a store of burst missiles based on those from the Yuke carrier, and finished the coup de grace—ten MIRV multiple nuclear warhead ballistic missiles, plus several extra without warheads that could be loaded mid-flight. Each warhead was separable; on impact, one missile resulted in the detonation of ten separate nuclear explosions. These could all detonate over one site, or be independently targeted so that the missile would burst in flight. Kiril saw that these were being loaded onto the craft in pieces, transported through wide corridors inside.

"Hmm… shit... Hey!" he hailed an officer over, "Does that opening lead all the way to the missile launch tubes?"

The official scratched his head, then answered, "Yes sir. But don't worry, during flight that is closed over by an air brake. It's only exposed when we slow to a hover to fire one of those missiles." Aleksei cursed. "Well that's great… you know what, I want you to see to it that those corridors are filled with AA gun nests. Don't let a single inch of space be out of range of some crossfire. We don't want any aircraft getting in there, do we?"

"But sir!" Kiril's inferior protested, "What aircraft could possibly fly through those tight turns in there? And besides, putting all those AA guns in will delay launch by at least a day or two!" The general shook his head and replied, "I don't care anymore. Just do it. Now, if you excuse me, I've got to go refine our course."

Aleksei continued on past the officer. As he neared the boarding platform for Megafloat, a colonel began chasing him down.

"Sir! General Aleksei! Wait!"

Kiril rolled his eyes and uttered, "Later colonel." "No sir! This is important!" "I said later." "Listen sir, this can't wait!"

Aleksei quickly became furious, and rounded on the official. He bellowed, "What the hell do you think could possibly be more important than plotting the demise of those who have ravaged our beautiful homeland?! _Well_?!"

The colonel took a few steps back, obviously very frightened. He regained his resolve, however, stood up straight, and said, "Sir… we've discovered where the last Starfighter pilots are hiding!"

The general stopped dead in his tracks. He suddenly reared back his head and burst out laughing. Turning to the colonel with a devious glint in his eyes, his mouth contorting into a smile, Kiril spoke softly, "I am _most_ sorry for yelling, colonel… That is… _undeniably_ the best news I've heard in the past week! Come, tell me what you know…"

* * *

"Mr. Sturmoff, you have a visitor. He's waiting in the lobby."

"Alright, I'll be right down." Viktor hung up the phone and turned off the television. He looked at the clock and sighed—six in the morning. "Who the hell's coming to visit this early?" he grumbled to himself as he dressed. For the past few days he hadn't been able to get any sleep, and it was grating on his nerves. Grabbing the cardkey for his room and flicking off the lights, he left and descended the staircase to the lobby. He and the other four surviving SF pilots were briefly staying at a hotel on the Forcaire Islands before their trip to Wocken. Here, no one knew them and no one cared. That was one of the things the five wanted most in the world right then—anonymity.

When he arrived at the front desk, Sturmoff was directed by the attendant to a man in the corner. This man was wearing a trench coat, dark sunglasses, and a wide-rimmed hat. Viktor laughed as he took this sight in. "What the hell, Kilroy? You look like a spy or something, way to be inconspicuous!"

"Sure," Andre whispered, "But better safe than caught. Listen Sturmoff, this is very, _very_ important! Do you know a man by the name of Kiril Aleksei?" This man kept glancing around, ensuring nobody was eavesdropping on them. Kilroy had taken to the same belief as many Erusian soldiers had that the war was pointless and now lost. For this reason he found himself gravitating more towards the Star pilots, who had also given up on the war, than those still fighting. Now he had come to Sturmoff to give him a dire warning.

"Never heard of him. So, I take it I should have?"

"Yes, well… Get this: he's the new general of the air force, replacing you. The Minister promoted him. Speaking of our leader… rumor has it he's dead—suicide. But that's not important. I don't know how, but Aleksei's found you guys. And he thinks he'll 'avenge' the Minister or something by killing you all. Here's the best part… (Kilroy's voice fell lower, and Sturmoff had to lean forward to hear him)… Aleksei's basically the most powerful Erusian in the world right now. The ISAF has captured our lead general. Now _this_ bastard is going to launch Megafloat. He's coming for you. You guys have to leave—get to Wocken immediately—quickly, tell the others! Head for Wocken!"

"So…" Viktor leaned back with a contented grin on his face. He seemed to have been completely unaffected by Andre's urgent message. "Somebody other than the Minister has the balls to launch Megafloat, huh? Interesting… I'm kinda liking this Aleksei pipsqueak."

Kilroy scowled. "He's mad, Sturmoff, he's completely lost it. As far as I know, he doesn't want to go to Wocken. He's planning some suicidal mission… I know it. Listen to me, don't go straight to Wocken. Head towards the mainland first, then turn southwest around the islands, then to Wocken. Going straight there will lead you _straight_ to him."

Sturmoff laughed again, but cut it short quickly. Though his expression elicited no knowledge of the gravity of the situation, he really did know, for he had helped shape the amazing power of Megafloat to destroy life. The Star pilots had to leave as soon as possible. "Well. We'd better hurry out of here. You, Kilroy?"

"I'm going back to Megafloat's construction site—I'm second in command now, you know—my absence would be noticed, and I've probably already taken too much time here. But I won't launch with it! I'm not going to die like that."

"Okay… good luck. Maybe we'll meet in Wocken some time?"

"Heh, definitely. I'll see you there, Sturmoff." With a wave, Kilroy departed the lobby. Viktor then hustled up the stairs to the second floor. He hammered on each of his wingman's doors, awakening them.

"Christ, Sturmoff," one grumbled as he emerged from his room, "It's so damn early. What the hell's the matter?"

"Get your things, and get dressed in your flight suit. We're going to Wocken."

"Wocken? I thought we weren't going for a few more days?"

Viktor grabbed his sleepy wingman by the shoulders and shook him. "Damn it Edith, in a few days we'll all be dead! C'mon, I'll explain later!"

Eventually, all five pilots had gotten down to the lobby, grumbling and yawning all the way downstairs. The attendant smiled cordially when he saw the men approach the counter. "Checking out sirs?" "Yes." "Alright then."

The man took their room keys and checked them out of the hotel. As they turned to leave, he said, "Good luck." None of the five questioned this. They knew that the whole hotel had been booked for fleeing Erusian officials headed for Wocken. This man was in on it all. Other than Sturmoff, none here, however, knew of the impending disaster.

As the others left, Sturmoff hesitated. He turned and called to the man before leaving, "No… good luck to you… _you'll_ actually need it."

* * *

"Hey hero! Good morning!"

Aaron laughed as he entered the crew room. He filled up a mug of coffee and plopped down next to his friend. "Hero, Ericks? Since when did I become a hero?"

"When you took out three SFs, man!"

"Oh, and not when I finished off the 'Sphynx?'"

"Aw, I was there to help!" Both laughed again. These two were in good spirits; Farbanti was all but captured and the Starfighters had been driven off.

"So, where do you think the other six Stars are now?" Ericks asked of Aaron. Before he could answer, a loudspeaker interrupted the new 'hero' by booming the words, "Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Makari, please report to the briefing room immediately," throughout the room.

"Great. Wonder what they want now… I'll answer that question in a sec…" Bolt 1 parted with his wingman and hurried to the briefing room. When he got there, he found the base commander, the general of the air force, and even Commander Mattock himself waiting.

"Makari," Ross addressed him, "Thanks for coming here quickly. We have much to discuss… Have a seat."

Aaron sat down in a chair and listened to the men start the briefing. Mattock began excitedly, "As you obviously know, Erusea constructed nine super jets—the Starfighters—in an attempt to gain air dominance over their capital. In the skies over Farbanti, you yourself fought them and shot down three. The pilots of those three are confirmed dead. During the third attack, you witnessed the lead SF retreat from battle. We had no idea what had become of the last six Stars. Now, however, our forces just discovered an SF left in a hangar that was miraculously untouched by our artillery! Its pilot was found dead a little farther away, killed by bombs-"

Aaron burst out, "Are you serious?! That's amazing!" Mattock beamed at him, and replied, "Yes, it is true. That is not all, but that is a pretty important chunk of the news I have for you… We have thus also confirmed a few things: one, this SF is one of the original nine; two, the other five are no longer in Farbanti. Just recently we've figured out how to use that Sonnatrac stuff, and we picked up five returns near an island to the southwest of this city. We've confirmed that the SFs flew to that island to hide, although temporarily. The SASS shows that they're heading for allied Wocken, since Erusea is no longer friendly to them. The Wocken Air Force could use such advanced technology, and will certainly welcome them with open arms. If we want this war to end, these planes _must_ be destroyed! It can't be allowed for these Stars to enter Wocken! So help me, I really do not wish to have to invade Wocken too… This is it, Makari! Our chance! You are the best we have. You must pilot the SF we captured and use it to destroy the other five. As of late, Erusea has refused to surrender. Perhaps if we finish off their best aircraft series, we can force them to the bargaining table. This is a top-secret mission for now, known as Operation Meteorologist. It begins immediately. Good luck and Godspeed, Aaron. You can end this war now, and I know you will!"

The Commander saluted Bolt 1 and left quickly, before Makari himself could return the gesture. The general took over where Ross had left off.

"Lieutenant colonel, we've had mechanics and engineers working all day to figure out that Starfighter. They've done a great job so far, probably deciphered most of it. They will brief you further once you get to the flight line. Good luck… _sir_." He too departed, leaving Aaron bewildered as to why everyone was saluting _him_.

The base commander stood up and stretched. "Well Makari… follow me." The two walked briskly down to the flight line, past the crew room. Ericks came out and began to ask Aaron about where he was going, but he told James first, "Just ask the commander when he gets back, he'll explain."

Ericks was just as bewildered as Makari was.

* * *

"All rise for General Aleksei! Salute!"

Kiril thanked his inferiors in the room. There were about twenty people or so here; all were generals who were in control of Megafloat's path, and they were about to present their plan to Aleksei.

"So gentlemen, what did you have in mind?" The head general relaxed in his chair as another general stood and turned on a display. On the computer a map of Usea popped up. That standing officer took a remote and pressed a button; ten red 'X's appeared, scattered throughout the continent, each labeled with names.

"Here we have our suggested targets, each of which is essential for ISAF control over the continent. These we'll destroy with our Mega-class MIRV missiles. The first target, here (he pointed with a laser pointer), is in Erusea—Scandy Military Base…"

Aleksei shot out of his seat. He commanded in a vehement tone, "No. We will not attack anything in Erusea's borders. Choose another target."

The official sighed, but removed the target from the list. While he looked for another suitable one, Kiril spoke again. "I have the first target for you. The Forcaire Islands off Erusea's coast. We will fire a missile there first. That is where the five traitors are hiding… Keep going."

The general added the target and continued. "Okay, the second target is the city of San Salvacion. Mattock himself often goes there. The third is Tahlone Military Base, near Gnome Ravine. We left a lot of SASS technology and Tu-200s there when we retreated… don't want the ISAF to get those! Fourth is New Leonshire City, previously known as the 'Orange City,' capital of the IFOM. Fifth is Los Canas. From there we fire at the Comona Islands, our sixth target. This will cripple their space program and space-based surveillance. Next is Newfield Island. The eighth is for Saint Ark, where newly trained ISAF troops arrive on the mainland from North Point. The last two missiles are for the two largest cities in North Point, one of which is obviously the capital; the other, Gefangel City. These strikes will utterly devastate the ISAF, leaving them weak, vulnerable to any enemies that might spring up. So, we launch, fire the missiles, then arm the extra missiles we have on board. We'll fire them at various capitals and other large cities around the continent before we head for Wocken after all the primary targets are confirmed destroyed. Any questions?"

Most of the men murmured in agreement and excitement, but Aleksei silenced them. He began to speak slowly but loudly, choosing each word carefully. "No… no… That won't do at all. I _love_ the targets, but _hate_ the execution idea! I want to go there… I want to watch those places be destroyed! And… Wocken? No… no, there will be no return journey for us… no glory. Choose the third largest city in North Point… Eiferstad, yes? A symbolic city, held sacred by some, capital of the country during World War II… We will crash this craft into it!!"

The other Erusians were horrified. _Suicide?!_ "Sir… you can't be serious…!"

Kiril glared at the brigadier general who had just spoken. "Oh, yes I can be, I damn well can be! This thing is almost a whole fucking mile long! Think of the destruction… of the casualties! It'll be a disaster… a gorgeous, beautiful disaster!! Fuck 'em all, we'll kill 'em all!"

Another general stood, shaking his head. "You're crazy… you're crazy…" He lifted his head and, surprisingly, was smiling. "You're fucking crazy, Aleksei, and I love it! Prepare for launch! Operation Final Destination will begin soon… and we will all go to our destinies as martyrs!"


	26. Chapter 26: Recessional

* * *

"And the…angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as if it were a lamp, and it fell on…water." – Revelation, Ch. 8:10

* * *

"Lieutenant Colonel Makari! Over here, sir!"

Aaron turned to look at the mechanic spasmodically waving his arms to attract his attention. Beyond the man was the very jet that had nearly taken Makari's life just days ago, one of the Starfighters. Other workers were climbing all over the craft's four wings, blotting out the FEAF symbols and replacing them with the ISAF arrowhead.

"Sir, we've been working all day to figure out this bird. So far I reckon we've got it down how to fly it and fight, but haven't identified all the features yet. If you look at the nozzles…"

Aaron did. They were circular, fairly close together, and had no tail sting between them. Both were drooping down about twenty degrees. Bolt 1 knew that from his dogfights with the SFs, and also knew what the mechanic was about to tell him.

"… From what tests we've done, we've discovered that they're 3-D thrust vectoring nozzles, and add to the aircraft's mobility quite substantially. The engines themselves are from Wocken, a custom job. Just one is more powerful than an F-25B's two combined!"

Aaron wandered on around the plane, recalling his recent battles against it and its sister jets. He clambered up a movable staircase overlooking the wings as the mechanic continued his explanation from below.

"These wings are truly amazing; it's a miracle that the Erusians got this design to work. There's a bunch of fuel lines and hydraulics here in the wingspan, but there's one system we don't know the purpose of, a hydraulic one in the back two wings that doesn't do anything at all, it seems. It's not even attached to anything in particular…"

Something in Aaron's mind clicked. Hydraulic systems in the wings, one connected to 'nothing in particular'… "The switchblading," Makari muttered aloud, "The systems control the wings' switchblading in flight." The mechanic stopped chatting abruptly, confused. "Er… what was that, sir?" "Switchblading! When the jets reach a certain speed, two of the wings swing into the others," Aaron explained, "The one system that controls the frontal wings' flaps also opens them so the back wings can be pulled into the front two with the hydraulic thing."

The mechanic stood dumbfounded for a moment, then shouted, "Wow! That's crazy!" before running off to write a new report on the wings. Aaron came down off the stairs and moved on to the cockpit. Another mechanic saluted and shook Makari's hand.

"Sir, Daniel Nawthorne, it's an honor to be showing you the wonders of this jet. Climb up right there and hop in."

Aaron moved up the ladder and looked into the cockpit. There was a helmet sitting on the ejector seat, and he picked it up and laid it on his lap as he sat down in the seat.

"Well, let's start with that helmet," Daniel began his explanation, standing on the ladder, "Put it on, and then push that button there, on it…" Makari did as told, and the padding in the helmet expanded, forming a soft, sealing cushion of air around his head.

"Whoa… this is pretty comfortable," Aaron told Nawthorne. "Just wait 'til you turn it on," the mechanic laughed. Makari was puzzled by this, but Daniel reached over and pressed another button on the helmet. The visor seemed to come alive with information; it was like a mini-HUD right before Bolt 1's eyes.

"This helmet can display as much info as the HUD, it's amazing. Air speed, altitude, attitude, you name it. Here, take that off now…" Aaron somewhat reluctantly decompressed the helmet's seal and removed it from his head. Nawthorne switched on the SF's instruments.

"Whoa…" The avionics glowed a soft green. Dan pointed out some features. "That's the HUD right there, over here's a digital map thing, pretty neat, check it out… This computer stores data for a mission; targets, neutrals, weather conditions, anything you need. Here's the radar… But this one… (He motioned towards the only screen that had not turned on) …we have no idea how to turn it on, what it does, anything at all. It isn't necessary to fly the plane, but we would like to know what it is."

Aaron made a mental note to keep an eye on that panel. Dan pointed out a few more things, including the radio and IFF, then asked, "So, what do you think?"

"Uh… you know, it's kinda hard to see the light green things on the HUD in the daylight." Nawthorne smiled and flipped a switch. The green lights faded and were replaced with cobalt blue.

"W-wow! That's only a little better, but… dang! That's cool!" Aaron stammered. "Well, that's not all, sir," Dan said with a wider grin. He flipped the switch again, and the blue became a glaring red.

"Awesome! That's perfect!" Makari exclaimed. Daniel replied, "I knew you'd love it. Any other comments?"

Aaron glanced around. He could see out the canopy every which way and could easily look out under the SF, despite the large canards and wingspan behind him. "Great visibility," Bolt 1 said, "And gees, this is a nice cockpit. There's a lot of space compared to other fighters I've been in. It's just… I'm blown away, really! I mean, the Syphoner's cockpit is nice and refined, but compared to this, it's just… cluttered."

"So, are you ready to suit up and take it for a spin?"

Aaron climbed out of the Starfighter's cockpit and followed the mechanic to the building. "So, you guys got some high-tech flight suit for me too?" he asked jokingly. Dan missed the sarcasm and said, "Nope… our guys found this plane's original pilot near one of the hangars… or rather, what was left of him. He was killed by the bombing. Strangely enough, he had on a regular old flight suit. It's beyond me how they can endure such maneuvers as they pull with such little protection from the high G's."

The two arrived at the locker room. Daniel waited as Aaron went inside and changed into his flight suit. Once Makari came out, they returned to the flight line. The painters, mechanics, and examiners had all come down off the jet and now stood before it. They saluted Bolt 1, and one called, "This aircraft has been thoroughly checked and overseen. It is certainly airworthy and ready for takeoff. Fuel and armament have been placed in the plane (Aaron remembered seeing the huge internal weapons bay the Star had). Good luck, Bolt 1, sir!"

Makari grinned as he advanced towards the SF. He was as giddy as a kid in a candy shop! "Which of the nine is this again?" Aaron asked as he hopped in the cockpit again. "None other than the best, sir," Dan replied from below, "This is the SF-9!"

"Really?! That's great!"

Aaron shoved the helmet back on and activated the plane's systems. A soft voice, seemingly from the helmet, said, "Welcome, Star 9." Makari blinked and muttered to himself, "Gotta change that…" He scrolled through a computer's menus (a touch-screen device shown to him by Nawthorne) and found what he was looking for. After editing the data there, the voice cooed, "Welcome, Bolt 1." Aaron smiled. "Now that's more like it!" He closed the canopy and revved up the jet's large engines, also checking to see if there was anyone too close first. Makari taxied out to the runway, practically bubbling with excitement and playing with the electronics. He noticed that the one screen had still not come on.

"Bolt 1, cleared for takeoff. Be careful with those engines, I've heard they're pretty power-"

Aaron wasn't listening; he had already opened the throttle to full. Before he knew it, he was thrown into the air, blasting by the control tower at supersonic speeds. "Whoa!! God damn it, Makari!" the ATC yelled as the base was rocked by the sonic boom. Aaron nearly laughed himself to tears as he eased the throttle back and apologized to the controller.

"I guess you weren't kidding then," he chuckled to himself, "Holy shee-at!"

Within seconds, the base and Farbanti fell far behind. Bolt 1 reported to his AWACS as he went feet wet. "AWACS Astrologist, where are they now?"

"Miles south of you, one. They're headed towards the mainland, it looks like. Sonnatrac predicts they might slip away to the west however."

"Alright, Bolt 1, going supersonic."

Aaron turned the SF-9 south and gave chase to the last Starfighters.

* * *

"We're all clear down here! The hangars have been taken down and stored!"

"Get everyone on board immediately!"

It was January 14th. At long last, Megafloat was ready to begin its genocidal mission. Hundreds of workers were scrambling to get into position aboard the craft.

"This is the STN turret control room, control room D! All engineers present and accounted for!" "This is control room B, all operators for the Mega-class missiles are on standby. Ready for takeoff."

General Aleksei watched and heard all that was going on aboard the ship from his chair in control room A. This room would actually pilot the craft; the others would wield its unspeakable weaponry. Right now it was chaos as mechanics dashed about, turning on computers and electronics.

"All AA gunners in missile corridor in position, locked and loaded!"

Slowly the room emptied of mechanics. The engineers now paced the length of the area, awaiting launch.

"Control room C, burst missiles at the ready."

Kiril began to grow impatient. He snapped at an operator, "How much longer 'til everyone's off the ground?!"

"They're all boarding now, sir. We should be able to take off in about ten or twenty minutes."

"Huh. It'd better be ten." Aleksei gazed out the massive windows at the very front of Megafloat. All he could see was water, and it seemed to stretch on forever. But he knew better. "Sturmoff… you're out there somewhere. We've never met in person, but I hate you… and I'm coming for you, traitor… to obliterate you and your squad…!" Kiril whispered to himself. As he stared, Aleksei paid no attention to the others in control room A. Before he knew it, ten minutes had passed.

"Alright? This is Klaus, we're in the green. Everybody's aboard. I repeat, we're all clear."

Aleksei now noticed that everyone in the room was staring at him, expecting the order to commence Operation Final Destination. "Well gentlemen… it's time… for Erusea, launch!!"

"We are go, we are go! Initiate launch sequence!" "Fire up engine set one."

The whole craft started to shake violently as the five massive engines underneath the beast ignited, lifting it skyward. As they rose vertically, the trembling became less. Sensors indicated they were a few hundred feet above the island.

"Fire engine set two."

The shaking returned in full force as the next five engines, at the back of the craft, erupted into life. Megafloat now began to drift forward as well as up. The rust-red beast had spread its wings and taken flight, a flight that would lead only to disaster for all.

"Altitude, five hundred feet. Speed, two hundred miles per hour."

The nozzles of engine set one inclined slowly; they rested facing aft at a thirty-degree slant back from their original position. This was to assist forward propulsion.

"Cruising altitude of one thousand feet reached. Heading for first target." "Speed, three hundred."

Aleksei was ecstatic. "At last! At last! We go to avenge our fallen comrades, our devastated lands! We go to extinguish the lives of the traitors and enemies! There is no turning back now, no retreat! We go to our deaths, our fate, to Hell! If there is such a place, we shall be welcomed there as heroes! Onward, onward to our end, and the loss of millions of souls!!"

* * *

"Okay… bearing 0-8-6, turn to 1-7-7."

The FEAF general gently adjusted his plane's direction. His four remaining wingmen followed suit. These five pilots were flying to allied Wocken, in hopes that they wouldn't be captured by the enemy. They had to fly a loop to get there so that their fellow Erusians also couldn't find them so easily. In their eyes, these five were traitors. They were the pilots of the last Starfighters.

"Viktor, I'm picking up something closing fast, possibly over mach 4."

Viktor, the flight's lead, cursed. "It's the nine. Ivan and Zhurmik are gone, we know that. Rote and Asche still haven't come back from Farbanti either. And only the SF-9 is the only one of those that can go mach 4. It's him… Thatcher. That damned Asche probably never got off the ground! ISAF must have gotten their dirty paws on the SF-9!"

Another one of the men spoke through clenched teeth. "You're kidding. What a disgrace, that traitor to Erusea's cause in such a perfect aircraft!"

Sturmoff reproached his wingman, "Watch your tongue, Borislav! We're all traitors here. Prepare to engage Thatcher. Better for the nine to be destroyed than flown by him."

* * *

"Approaching contact point, stay alert. ETA sixty seconds. Good luck Makari."

Aaron thanked his AWACS wholeheartedly. He would need that luck. The SF-9 was now flying at an astounding mach 4.5, as one of the computers read. Suddenly Makari was gripped by fear. He didn't know how to use the weapons on this jet, how many he had, or anything, and he was about to challenge five of these same planes. Five planes piloted by men who knew how to use them, and use them well.

"Thirty seconds."

In panic, Aaron pulled the gun trigger. Nothing happened. He tried the missiles, and again, nothing. His mind was racing faster than his Starfighter, and so almost missed the little voice saying, "A.R.M.S. activated. Targets selected."

"Huh? Arms?" Aaron noticed that the one computer had finally turned on. The screen displayed a wire frame of the aircraft and its weapon loadout. On the top of the display it read, "Armament Readout and Mobilization System." Bolt 1 let out a sigh of relief. Now he was ready.

* * *

"The Forcaire Islands are dead ahead. Prepare for a stop."

Gigantic airbrakes on two sides of Megafloat deployed, stretching out into the air. Engine set one's nozzles tilted forward thirty degrees, and the craft's secondary engines were shut down. Slowly, the XAM-100A came to a complete halt. Set one's nozzles returned to their regular position, enabling the craft to hover.

"Control room B, initiate sequence for firing. Target, the Islands, one missile."

"Roger. Countdown to firing, five minutes."

Aleksei practically bubbled with excitement. This was the first step, to annihilate those five traitors for his Minister's honor. And, as a bonus, Kiril got to enjoy a spectacular light show and the knowledge that thousands would be dead in an instant.

"Three minutes."

Megafloat had stopped just out of range of the nuclear blast. The people aboard could just barely see the Forcaire Islands from control room A, and it was the only position that had windows (these were, of course, reinforced for protection). Aleksei had a prime seat to watch the destruction wrought by the ten nukes on the missile. All the men donned heavily tinted glasses.

"One minute."

The craft began to shudder; the missile's engine was roaring to life.

"Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one. Lift off."

The rocket shot out its tube. Once free from Megafloat, its boosters kicked into full power. Fins extended from inside it to help steer as it blasted into space.

"Re-entry… missile has separated. Impact in five… four… three… two… one…"

The horizon was suddenly consumed with blinding light. The explosions disintegrated solid rock and living beings all the same. Ten mushrooms clouds rose into the crimson heavens, as if tombstones for the mass grave. When he looked, Aleksei noticed that even some of the ocean had evaporated; as water rushed back towards the islands, they disappeared completely. It seemed the nukes had sunk the islands.

"Holy…" "My God… what have we done?!"

Kiril grinned, and started laughing uncontrollably. The death, the decimation, the horror… it was wonderful. Few in the control room shared this feeling, however, as many stared at their chosen 'leader' and others were sick in their trashcans. It was a long time before someone approached the hysterical general.

"Um… sir…? Sir… sh-shall we proceed to th-the next…?"

Aleksei stopped laughing at once. He peered sternly at the officer and said, "Hmm? No. Not yet. I sent word for our escort to meet us here. We wait for them."

"E-escort sir? What kind…?"

"Airplanes of course!" the general scoffed, "Every single fighter plane we've got left! The FEAF will rise again, with this craft as its flagship!!"

Kiril burst out in another spasm of laughter while the officer slowly backed away. Another called to the general, "Sir! We've got incoming aircraft! IFF says friendly!"

"Well look! Here come some now," said Aleksei happily, "Patch a link through, let's talk to them."

The engineers toiled away, locating the planes' radio frequency. At last, they heard the lead pilot speak. "Sir! This is Blue Angel 3, I'm in command of these forces! We have eight planes from the Red Squad, six from Green and Blue each, ten from White, four from Gray, seven from Black, thirteen from Orange, and five from my own squad! We give you our allegiance!"

"Ah, good to hear! Join formation, join us murderers!"

Aleksei took one more look at was left of the Forcaires. The land had completely vanished beneath the frigid waves, and all that remained was an empty stretch of sea and the clouds. He sighed longingly.

"Ah… war, vengeance… it's all so beautiful. I love the sights, the empty cities, the vaporized peoples, the survivors mangled and deformed by radiation… I love the smells and the sounds, flesh burning, those still alive screaming for help, while the air crackling with lethal radiation _melts_ them… oh, how I wish I could be there, I could see, hear, smell all those things…"

* * *

"Here he comes… Sturmoff…?"

Viktor coughed. He glanced at the other jets around him and said, "Thatcher is the best of the ISAF. We'll have to engage as a group, otherwise we're dead. And, be forewarned… no one's coming for us. If you're shot down, don't bother ejecting. It's… it's better to sink with the plane." Star 7 took a last longing look towards his homeland, the coast of which was just visible from where they were, and lamented, "Oh beautiful and fair Free Erusea! We shall never again be blessed to walk upon your earth. Long may you thrive under the golden sun for all others yet to come. We, who are about to die, salute you!"

As Sturmoff lowered his hand from his salute, a large object flashed by his canopy. It turned a wide arc around the formation, slowing down.

"At last," Viktor confirmed, "He's come."

"What the…?! He's alone, where're his wingmen?" Star 5 wondered aloud. Star 3 cursed, "The damned ISAF think they can kill us all with just one pilot?! Let's destroy him and show them all the true might of the Starfighters!" "Right! Engage!" Sturmoff's mood changed instantaneously as he laughed maliciously over the radio at Aaron. He jaunted, "This is it Thatcher… this is for all my men whom you have slain… Their blood is on your hands, and they will be avenged!"

The five SFs split formation. Two turned opposite horizontal directions, one dived, another climbed, and Sturmoff headed straight for Aaron. By now, Bolt 1 was used to this tactic. He dived under the SF-8 and pulled up hard left, coming up onto Star 5's tail as he climbed. "Guns!"

"Argh! Evading!"

The SF's Titan machine gun spewed round after round at the SF-5, but Sanders rolled, taking only one or two hits.

"Missile inbound." It was that soft voice again. Makari looked behind him and briefly saw two bandits on his tail. "Oh shit!" He broke right, and the projectiles overshot. "Damn, that was—whoa!"

A fourth SF flashed by, firing its gun. Its aim was off fortunately, and each bullet missed its target. Aaron reacted quickly, turning after the enemy, only to come face to face with yet another Starfighter. He barrel-rolled over its missile shot, narrowly avoiding a midair collision. "Damn it, this isn't working in my favor!"

Star 6 pulled his jet onto Bolt 1's six o'clock and exclaimed, "We'll chase you to the ends of the universe, even through hell and back, ghost! Fox 2!" The missile shot towards the SF-9, but Aaron jinked and threw it off. Soon enough, _another_ Star was behind him!

"Goddamn! This isn't working at all!"

Makari disengaged and separated from the furball. He accelerated away so as to come around and stiff-arm an enemy. Unexpectedly, they all followed close behind, as Sturmoff bellowed, "No! Don't let him get away, don't let him get out too far! We'd be done for! This bastard must know something about the SFs!" This confused Aaron considerably, but he knew better than to ask for an explanation. Instead, he pushed the throttle all the way forward and zoomed away from the trailing bandits. One of them cursed him, "Don't think you'll escape! We shall destroy you for disgracing the SF-9!!"

Star 5 resounded, "Damn right! None can withstand the wrath of five Angel Killers, not even Seraph 8!!"

The pilot long ago known as 'Seraph 8' paid no attention. He simply cut the throttle and braked hard; the end of the Star fishtailed violently, and Aaron was bounced around in the cockpit. The bandits couldn't decelerate quick enough, having been taken completely by surprise.

"Alright! Fox 3!" Four missiles sprang from the SF-9, eager to finally tear into the enemy. Each trailed a separate aircraft, yet only one found its target. That projectile exploded right next to the SF-3, ravaging the plane. Half of its front right wing was shorn clean off.

"Damn it, this is Borislav, I've taken damage!"

Aaron flew past the SFs. He was shocked to see that the wounded bird was still flying. "I forgot it takes a direct hit to bring down one of these things…But that almost was a direct hit! I'll have to be careful with my shots…_real_ careful."

As he turned to engage again, Makari heard Sturmoff growl over the radio, "You've scarred five of these beautiful jets now Thatcher… You bastard…! It's time you atoned for all the evils you've committed against your brethren! Die, Thatcher, _die!!_"

The five SFs resumed their attack. This time, however, it was different. It was all different. The SF-3 was wounded and trailing smoke. Bolt 1's instincts, the very instincts long tempered by years of this war, overwhelmed his reason. The others didn't matter. Not now. He was the predator now. He had to rend, tear, kill the weakest enemy. Diving through the formation of Stars, Bolt 1 zeroed in on the prey. Damaged, the SF-3 couldn't outmaneuver the powerful SF-9, and Aaron clung to it. He pulled the trigger and followed the Starfighter with an unremitting stream of bullets. The bandit's aircraft, strafed by hundreds of bullets, fell apart.

"Oh shit! Oh _shit!_ This is Afanasi, I'm hit! It's coming apart!"

There was a long pause as the plane's radio was interrupted by static. Then Star 3 spoke his last words: "I'm… I'm not going to eject…like you said. Thatcher might win the day, but remember… Megafloat will claim his soul soon enough!" Makari watched with marked satisfaction as the SF-3 smashed into the waves below, and the radio transmission was cut off. He laughed aloud, "Well, that's one down! Come on, weren't you guys supposed to crush me?"

Viktor retorted harshly, "Of course! We still have a four to one advantage! We'll send you to hell so you can keep company with Taylor and Rhodes!!"

"That's the only advantage you've got," Bolt 1 muttered, "And screw those ass holes." He pulled a wide arc and merged with the bandits once more. The four SFs scattered, avoiding Aaron.

"You know Thatcher, just wait, I'll tell you a secret," Star 7's voice drifted temptingly over the radio, "If you hadn't run like a coward from GHQ, you would be where we are... you would have been chosen to pilot an SF! Probably Rhodes and Taylor too… had you not killed them. What do you think of that?"

Makari firmly replied, "I don't care what I could have been… I'm glad I'm fighting you! And… my… name's… not… _Thatcher!!_" He chased after the others, as they had reformed; they split again as he approached. Edith laughed at him, "Fool! After we kill you, we'll kill the rest of your pitiful squad, and the Points of the Arrowhead! Then no one will stand in the way of Erusea's resurrection and domination!"

Bolt 1 noticed then a rather large Sweeping Star insignia on the tail of one of the fighters. This was the jet of Conrad Edith, the man who had just taunted him. This was the very first Starfighter. This was his next target. Aaron pursued him, trying to achieve a missile lock before he himself was painted.

"Are you really still trying Thatcher? Just give up and die!"

Sturmoff was turning onto his six, yet Makari only concentrated on the enemy aircraft to his front. Just a few seconds more…

"Well, goodbye Thatcher… fox 1!" he heard Viktor say. The missile's engine ignited, propelling itself towards the SF-9. Aaron knew he had to move, but then he wouldn't be able to hit Star 1. He waited for the lock-on as the lethal object from the SF-8 streaked ever closer.

"See you in hell Thatcher…" Again Makari ignored Edith. Now was the time; the buzzer heralded the successful lock-on. "Sorry… I'll miss the date. Fox 2!"

As soon as he fired, Bolt 1 yanked the throttle back and pitched up. His aircraft threw itself into a kulbit, missing the other missile by mere inches. Both missiles, Aaron's and Viktor's, instead hit another target, the SF-1. The plane was ripped to pieces by the double impact. Edith screamed over the radio as his jet met the water, "You are dead Thatcher! Dead like me! No matter what happens today, Megafloat will ravage all our—Aaahhh!!!"

The three remaining SF pilots were horrified. This enemy, this man who had never before piloted a Star, and only seen their flying style twice, had shot down and killed two more of their number. In this one instant, the odds had swung to Aaron's favor. It was still three against one, but Bolt 1 had become… something. Something bloodthirsty, something deadly. None of them showed it, but all three were thoroughly terrified.

Sanders tried to encourage himself and his wingmen. "Re-regardless of how good it is… the SF-9 is j-just another p-plane… you shoot it, it blows up, he dies…!" These mumbled sounds had the opposite effect on Sturmoff. He silenced his wingman, "_Just another plane?!_ Do you realize what you're saying?! There's no escape! The SF-9 can easily take us out from long distance. Yet even at close range where the SF-8 beats the nine, we can't even hit him! We have to fight harder if we want to live to see Wocken!"

The Starfighers changed formation. Sturmoff attacked solo while Sanders and Zumtod fought as a pair. The SF-6, a production model of the five, flew beautifully with its sister jet. The pilots, on the other hand, had been reduced to nervous wrecks by the very real possibility of their deaths looming nearer. Star 6's mental state bordered on lunacy as he shrieked, "Let us satisfy the reaper! May heaven's glory shine upon us as we eradicate this fallen angel from the face of the Earth!!"

Viktor came from above as the other two approached Aaron from below. Bolt 1 thought fast and pulled straight up. Sturmoff shot right past him, yet now the pair was sitting at his six o'clock. He increased his speed to full, rocketing up into the heavens. The SFs were quick to follow suit. Makari watched as the speed and altitude indicators went crazy; he ascertained that he was climbing at mach 4.3, and was at around an astounding angels sixty and still going.

"You fools! Don't follow him!" Star 7 cried out from far below. It was too late. At around angels eighty, the two Starfighters chasing Aaron stalled. Time seemed to freeze as Bolt 1 observed the surreal image of two huge jets ceasing forward movement and slowly falling back to earth. He seized his chance, dropping onto the bandits' tails in a controlled stall. The SF-6 would be the next victim.

"Fox 3, fox 3!"

The missile leapt from the Starfighter, hungrily pursuing a long-awaited kill. The enemy aircraft, still buffeting uncontrollably, couldn't evade the projectile. It took a direct hit to the fuselage, blowing off all four wings at once. Zumtod was forever silenced by shrapnel that impaled him through his seat. The SF-6 fell burning like a comet, shattering the tranquil waters of the sea when it crashed in them. Aaron observed all of this with a glint in his eyes and a smirk on his face. _This_ was what he lived for. The rush one gets dogfighting, the thrill of bagging the enemy… he relished it.

"God damn it… Zumtod too…" Star 5's voice trembled as he spoke, "I…I get it now… w-we aren't going to kill Th-thatcher… You, Thatcher, are dead… you think you are alive, but you are dead… Megafloat has seen to that. So, we can't kill you… fate is inevitable." Sturmoff silently agreed. Then suddenly, Sanders did something Viktor never expected.

"So go ahead… Thatcher, shoot me down. It's over…"

Aaron obliged. He turned onto Timothy's tail and launched a missile before Viktor could interfere. The SF-5 took a direct hit to the engines and imploded. Large chunks of steel and shrapnel drifted down to the water. Again, the pilot remained in the jet. Now there was just one SF pilot left. Viktor Sturmoff.

"Wh-why…? How…? I…I…! No! _No!!_" Star 7 disengaged Makari and fled from him. He streaked towards Wocken as fast as his engines could thrust him forward. Now Aaron relented. His anger had abated some, and he was even ready to let Sturmoff escape with what was left of his life. But…

"Bolt 1! What are you doing?! You can't let _any_ get away! Chase him!" his AWACS commanded. Aaron sighed. "Well… I'm sorry Sturmoff." He fired one of his long range missiles. The projectile almost dealt a fatal blow, but Viktor realized he was under attack just in time. The missile detonated near his jet, damaging it slightly. At this, he erupted in rage.

"Damn you Thatcher!! Damn you!! You have taken everything from me: my jets, my wingmen, my country and home, my air force, and yet now you seek my life too?! Why can't you let a broken man go?!"

Aaron took a deep breath before answering. He knew Sturmoff was trying to take advantage of his compassionate side. Unfortunately for Viktor, it had faded a long time ago. "Because… I have to end this damned war. And that won't happen easily if Wocken gets an SF."

"Then… then follow me to Wocken! I'll climb straight up to… however high this thing can go and then plunge it into the ocean at top speed! I'll eject right near the coast, and this jet will plummet to its doom, shredded to nothingness on impact!!"

"I can't do that either," Makari denied, "You love that plane too much. You'd never purposefully destroy it. No… you'd hit me as soon as my guard was down. Not hard to do in the SF-8."

There was a momentary silence. Aaron could tell that Sturmoff was thinking hard on what to say next, for Makari had seen right through him.

"What I said earlier, Aaron…" Bolt 1 immediately braced himself. This sudden change of tone, this sudden new strategy by Viktor… Aaron had made up his mind, and he couldn't be swayed by what this pitiful creature was about to do next – beg.

"I did so much for you… as General of the FEAF…"

Aaron snapped at this man, "Yeah! You ordered my squad assassinated! You killed so many of my friends!"

"Don't be like that, Aaron… Before then… when you let that ace go alive, I lessened your long-term punishment… Your promotions were usually suggested by me… It was I who saw to it you got the best training available…"

"And look where it's gotten you," Makari retorted caustically, "At my mercy… begging and pleading… it's pathetic."

"Damn you Thatcher…! You let that worthless ISAF bastard go, why not me?!"

Aaron completely lost it with Sturmoff. He had had enough. "I… already… ANSWERED THAT!! I can't let you go! I don't want to let you go! No… Sturmoff, it's time… it's time _you_ atoned for _your_ sins! I won't let someone who tried to finish what his Yellow lackeys started over Olim Ravine live! I won't let a man who threatened and attempted to kill me and my friends escape! _Prepare to die like the dog you are, Sturmoff!!_"

"Aaron, please, no! I'm sorry, I am!"

Bolt 1 paid no attention. He switched to his last short range missiles; he intended to finish Viktor in a vicious, close-in dogfight. Star 7 deserved no better.

"You were my favorite! Always! Ever since the beginning of the war I knew the Stars would be built, and I made a list of whom would pilot them! You were always at the top of that list, Aaron! Aaron!! _Seraph 8_!!"

Makari spoke his last words to Viktor, "I told you, I don't give a damn. And look! I _am_ piloting an SF. And… 'Seraph 8' _is_ dead… He died in the ravine with the others. _I _am Bolt 1. I did die then… like you'll die now."

Sturmoff cursed to himself, "Damn Thatcher… a dogfight to the death… and the SF-8 has probably lost its edge due to the missile damage… shit!" He had lost every advantage he had over Bolt 1. Now it was just pilot skill that would decide who should live and who should perish.

Aaron glanced at his instrument panels. According to ARMS, he had a total of just two more missiles. Remaining also were some two hundred and fifty rounds for the Titan gun. Makari then noticed that the Mission Intel screen next to ARMS had been keeping track of the battle. It listed kills, the aircraft downed, and what the chances for survival in the encounter were. In solo combat against five SFs, the possibility of his victory had been predicted as less than four percent.

"Thanks jet, I guess you don't know me too well!" he laughed. Bolt 1 was ready now. He knew the two aircraft were evenly matched (the data now read that survival in one-on-one was fifty percent), and that he had to make every shot count. He passed Sturmoff head-on, then turned to engage.

Star 7 climbed to attack Aaron from above. He dived at his target from twenty thousand feet. Makari, at angels eleven, saw this coming and rolled his airplane. Rather than dive as well, he pushed the stick forward and ascended upside-down. Viktor noticed that Bolt 1 was flying straight at him, but not that he was inverted.

"Such a bad move, Thatcher… fox 2!"

At this exact moment, Aaron pulled the stick back towards him; the SF-9 began into a small loop, avoiding Star 7's missile. The SF-8 zoomed past in its descent, and then Makari completed his maneuver. Now he was behind Sturmoff by just a few hundred feet, too close for missiles.

"Guns, guns!"

The Titan machine gun roared into life, spewing about eighty 30mm slugs at the bandit. Viktor frantically weaved to dodge them, but took at least twenty hits to the fuselage of his jet. Sputtering thick smoke, the SF-8 leveled out and decelerated. Bolt 1 broke off his attack to avoid crashing into the enemy plane. He listened as Sturmoff cussed him out on the radio, but did not respond.

"Fuck you, Thatcher! Damn you and your squad to hell! Megafloat won't get a chance to kill you… I'm going to!!"

Star 7 pushed the throttle to full. The damaged SF accelerated again, turning a wide arc after Aaron. Viktor was attempting to use hit-and-run tactics now.

"Keh… how fitting for a coward," Makari scowled. He sped up too, and stiff-armed Sturmoff. The two passed once more without firing a shot. As he broke left, Aaron saw that Viktor was going low, extremely low. He also noticed that the SF-8's wings had not switchbladed, possibly due to some bullet that struck a key component to the wings' pivoting action. The bandit's low altitude and large wing area were creating a great amount of drag on it. This was Aaron's opportunity! He pursued Star 7 to just feet above the water.

"Let's see how reckless you are, Thatcher…"

Viktor began jinking erratically, his wingtips coming within inches of the ocean surface, a fatally solid wall at this speed. Bolt 1 had to follow him through these stunts if he wanted a good tone. As Sturmoff scissored back and forth, however, he easily threw off the missile lock.

"What's the matter, Thatcher? Weren't _you_ going to crush _me_?"

Aaron clenched his teeth; he was getting very agitated by Viktor's constant swerving. His concentration wavered for a second, but he then conceived the simple solution. Makari stopped following Star 7's every move. Sure enough, he eventually turned right into Bolt 1's sights.

"Fox 2!"

"What?! Shit!!"

Nothing worked for Sturmoff, and so he couldn't shake off the projectile. It detonated in close proximity to his engines, blasting apart the rear end of the Star.

"Damn it! _Damn it_!!"

The SF-8 was finished. Its engines burst into flames, and the number one engine failed, tilting the aircraft; its fins and nozzles were shredded; its wings and systems were all breaking down. Star 7 knew it was over, too. His life, his jet, all were in shambles… and now it was about to be ended. He called out over the radio one last time, interrupted now and then by static.

"I don't know……can hear me, but I……Bolt 1, you want me to…….my sins? I'll say….There is a corridor….leads straight to the missiles…Now fire, Thatcher…end your war."

Aaron's eyes watered as he listened to this broken man. This man was the cause of all of Aaron's suffering, but he couldn't help but feel sorrow for him. Sturmoff had lost everything but his life, and now he was prepared to lose that too.

"Fox… 2…"

Bolt 1's missile obliterated what was left of the SF-8. The pieces of the jet scattered over the ocean floor as they sank. Star 7 drifted down, down into the deep, clear blue oblivion. Aaron pulled up, away from the grave of General Viktor Sturmoff.

"Yes! Yes! Excellent, Makari, you did it! You took on all five and beat the bastards! Three cheers for Bolt 1!"

Aaron vehemently yelled to Astrologist, "Shut up, damn it!!" The men aboard the AWACS were shocked into silence, not expecting anger to be the emotion Makari was feeling. They could not understand why Aaron was not as excited as they were. Neither could Aaron. Conflicting ideas in his mind waged a fierce battle. What _had_ he actually accomplished? Avenged his friends and wingmen? Ended the war at last?

Perhaps all he had done was murder five men in cold blood as they fled to the last and only place on Earth that would still accept them, as they fled from their own personal fears and demons, as they fled from their shattered lives.

Aaron found himself unable to grasp the answer to that question. It did not matter right then and there. The war was over! He would have plenty of time to think it over later, so he repressed the feelings for now. He apologized to Astrologist and headed for base, happier than he could remember being for a long time. The war was over! The war was over at last!

* * *

Author's Note:

During the battle, Sturmoff mentioned that the five SF pilots couldn't let Aaron 'get out too far' and that Aaron must know something about the SFs. This is actually just a coincidence. The SF-9 is an update on the SF-7 and specializes in long range combat and tracking multiple targets (as Rote and Sturmoff boasted). The only SFs that could have challenged the nine at long distances were already shot down; namely, the SF-2, 4, and 7. Also, Viktor did not trust Gregory Asche, the previous pilot of the SF-9, because he was Belkan, not Erusian. He figured that Asche gave Aaron the nine and information on the other Starfighters in return for amnesty, not knowing that Asche had been killed by falling bombs. These factors led Sturmoff to believe that Aaron knew about each SF and was going to take out the rest from long range, a very easy task to accomplish with the SF-9.


	27. Chapter 27: Catch the Lightning

* * *

"The one…says this: 'I know your works, that you have the reputation of being alive, but you are dead. Be watchful and strengthen what is left, which is going to die, for I have not found your works complete…" – Revelation, Ch. 3: 1-3

* * *

"Bolt 1, you are cleared for landing! Welcome home, hero!"

Aaron laughed as he eased the SF-9 onto the runway. "You too, huh?" he joked with the tower while he decelerated. Listening happily to the whine of the engines, he taxied to the hangar. Perhaps this would be the last time he would hear them, the only time, now that it was over. The jet came to a graceful stop back at its shelter.

"Oh gees…!" Aaron muttered as a flood of mechanics, pilots, and officers swarmed around the aircraft. As Makari climbed out of the Starfighter, Ericks pushed through the crowd, clutching a bottle of champagne.

"Here's the ace of aces now! That was brilliant Aaron!" he shouted, uncorking the bottle and spraying the foam over everyone in the vicinity, "We watched the whole thing on radar. Wasn't very exciting watching dots, of course… but damn! Five of those S.O.B.s at once couldn't stop you!"

Ericks disappeared back into the crowd, cheering and taking swigs of the champagne. Aaron found that he was pinned to the plane on all sides by the celebrating mob. "Haha, great, I'm trapped here in a champagne-soaked flight suit." Random people Makari had never even met before came forward to congratulate him. One he did recognize, however, was Falcon 4.

"Yo! Aaron!" Marshall called, fighting his way through the crowd, "That was awesome! I don't think I could ever have done that!" Brian patted Makari on the back (and then wiped off the champagne on his nearby flight lead's shoulder) and said in a surprisingly solemn tone, "You know… Ericks had it right. What he said over the 'Sphynx?' 'You're the best, Thatcher!' So much for my hopes of being the ace of aces, heh… I just wish that… he… that he could be here for this too, this celebration. It's finally over, but he…"

Aaron knew that Brian was thinking about Jordan Nelson. He had died just a month before the end of the war. It all seemed so pointless, that so many people should have been killed just a few weeks before the fighting would be over.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Marshall. You two were outnumbered. It's a miracle you even survived! Sure, I took out five Stars, but _you_ faced the same situation before I did. Five Yellows… you shot down five Yellows by yourself, including Taylor! If anything… we've tied for the title of ace of aces, man."

Brian broke into a grin. "You sound like Ericks. He must be rubbing off on you! Thanks, Makari. At least I got Yellow 6, the bastard. That's for Pitch 7! And, if I'm not mistaken, Seraph 1 too. (Marshall turned around and saw the crowd behind him, knowing the 'hero' would probably want to change into regular clothes.) Hmm… follow me Aaron, my squad'll get you outta this mess…"

The Falcon pilots pushed through the horde of people with Makari in tow and emerged by the buildings on the other side. "Dang, I can't even see the SF-9 from here…" Marshall noticed while standing on his toes. He and his wingmen dived back into the throng to try to get them to disperse, or at least to head towards the crew room. Aaron meanwhile headed for the locker room. The corridors were packed with even more young airmen and officers hoping to get a glimpse of 'the very best.' After reaching his destination (and shaking dozens of hands so as to lose his pursuers), Makari entered a world of well-deserved peace and quiet. He changed and prepared to leap back into the chaos. Exiting the room, none other than Commander Mattock himself bumped into him.

"Sorry, excuse me," Ross muttered, without even glancing at Aaron. His expression was anxious.

"What the… what's he so worried about, everyone on the base getting sloshed?" Aaron chuckled, before following Mattock, who had been heading for the flight line. He still needed to check his jet for any damage.

When he arrived, the crowd had thinned, and every Falcon and Pitch pilot was gone. "Well that's strange. Gone to set the real party, eh?" Aaron concluded. He called to a mechanic, "Say, have you checked the jet yet?" The mechanic jumped down some movable stairs and ran up to Makari. He realized it was Daniel Nawthorne.

"Makari! Great job up there! You figured out what that damn other screen does!"

Aaron laughed. "Sure did. Glad I did, too, or else I'd be in a few more pieces right now! Any damage on her?"

"We've checked most of the craft and—by God—we haven't found a scratch!"

"Really?" Aaron was taken aback. "I didn't know I did that well!" "Well… you did!" The two laughed. Makari assisted the mechanics in overseeing the last sections of the Star, and none indeed found any damage whatsoever. Aaron had proved that he and this jet were the absolute best by taking on and destroying five other SFs without getting even a dent.

* * *

"Settle down, settle down, we'd like to get started right away."

Brian Marshall sat down into one of the folding chairs in the temporary briefing room (the usual one having been bombed out). It creaked, and he hoped it wouldn't just collapse underneath him. Around him were the weary members of his squadron and a few officers as well. Hurriedly, Commander Mattock too entered the room. Some pilots rose out of courtesy, but the officers barked at them to remain seated so he could begin.

"I hope you all won't mind the informality of this briefing."

Pale-faced, Ross paced back and forth as he talked. The pilots soon learned why he was so worried.

"Early today, the SASS systems we commandeered from the Erusians picked up a _gigantic_ radar return off the coast. This craft must be at least a mile long to produce such an image! At around 1300 hours, it proceeded south towards the Forcaire Islands, came to a stop, and launched a missile at the islands. This ICBM split into ten separate nuclear explosions. Everything… the islands were… completely eviscerated…"

There was a collective gasp from the assembled pilots. Several who had been relaxing sat up in their chairs. Brian was horrified. "_Ten_ detonations from one missile?! Holy…"

Mattock nodded grimly. "After it launched the missile, the target remained stationary. It seemed it was waiting for something, and indeed some FEAF air superiority fighters have flown out to its side. We at HQ see this as our best chance to take it out, before it moves again or any more escorts show up. Who knows where it's headed, or how many missiles it has… (Ross shuddered at his words) … You will be launching it to intercept it ASAP. Don't hesitate. Open fire on anything that gets between you and that… that thing. Bring that bastard down! Dismissed!"

* * *

"Welcome to the group, gentlemen and ladies."

Aleksei grinned at the radar screen. Surrounding Megafloat (which was at the center of the display) were hundreds of jet fighters. The full escort had arrived, and Kiril was greeting them via the radio.

"General Aleksei, this is Blue Angel 3, come in."

"Go ahead, three."

"Sir, several members of my own squad have not reported in! I believe they have turned coward and run off! The Yellows too, they all ran scared before Farbanti even fell!"

Kiril grimaced. "No worries, three. We'll kill those traitors too. Why, we've already gotten one of the Yellows, I believe. Was there not a Yellow amongst those five traitors at the Forcaires? Were there not probably more Yellows there? Haha, indeed, rest assured three, quite a few traitors have already been sent on to the next world."

As Aleksei turned away from the screen, something caught his eye. He quickly whipped back around, and he noticed a tiny dot streaking towards Megafloat, too fast to be one of his fighters. "What the hell is that?" he barked at an officer.

"Sir! Uh… an Osean SI-96! Should we fire the turrets?"

"… Negative. Why should we care about the Oseans? We have more pressing matters. Let them photograph us if they want to. What good will it do against our majesty?"

Kiril walked over to the engineers in contact with the engine room and snatched up one of their microphones. His voice boomed all over the craft, "Fire up engine set 2! Let's get going, on to target number two, San Salvacion!"

He strolled back to his seat and plopped down into it. He wasn't silent forever, though. "Set course for San Salvacion! Set course for the next giant crater! Let the fireworks begin and history change!!"

As Aleksei roared with laughter yet again, one of the radar intercept officers came forward. "Sir! We've got inbound radar returns, hostile! What do you recommend?"

Kiril stopped laughing. "How many?"

"Ten or more."

"Tell the men in control rooms C and D this message… 'Fire freely'…"

* * *

"Falcon 1 here. Falcon and Pitch flights just went feet wet."

"Roger Falcon 1. Take vector 2-6-0 to the target."

Brian Marshall shivered again. This formation of just fourteen aircraft was to attack a craft that had eviscerated whole islands with just one missile. And not to mention the dozens of fighters that were escorting the craft! To top it all off, they knew nothing about this thing. It was a grim task, and it seemed they had been sent up just on impulse, perhaps to soothe the nerves of the terrified higher-ups.

"We're about a few hundred miles from the target."

There was no turning back now. Hawkeye had described the radar image earlier, calling it 'a big S.O.B.' Falcon 4 could tell this was quite an understatement as the target appeared on his own radar. In fact, there was nothing else on his radar _but_ the craft.

"One hundred miles."

As they passed the one hundred mark, Hawkeye's voice suddenly cut in, "Incoming! The enemy has launched a ballistic missile and some type of wave, unable to identify! ETA ten seconds, _brace for impact_!"

The radio erupted in frantic calls and yells from the frightened pilots. Marshall simply gritted his teeth and counted down with the AWACS.

"Three… two… one… impact!"

It was like nothing the pilots had ever seen before, not even like the 'Sphynx.' Above them a sound like thunder, and the heavens were torn asunder by three separate transparent waves. Below them humongous explosions erupted, engulfing two planes. A third had been hit by the mysterious projectiles, which weren't really projectiles at all.

"I'm going down! Both engines and all the controls are out, I can't do anything! The eject handle's stuck, I can't even eject! Damn it, damn it!!" The F-16S tumbled out of the sky, taking its pilot with it.

"Shit, no response from them!" "What was that?! What do we do?! AWACS?!"

Brian's mind raced. He had been watching the waves that detonated overhead. "Those were electromagnetic pulse waves! That's where the damn Stonehenge turrets went!" he shouted, pounding his hand on the throttle. It was a nightmare come true; his own father's prized 'masterpiece' used against him.

"What do we do then?! Dive?!"

"We can't dive into those explosions!!"

"Aren't those burst missiles?"

The pilots scrambled to decide what to do, at which point Hawkeye screamed again, "More incoming! Double attack again, evade, evade!!"

The attacks were coming and time for the pilots was running out. Marshall and everyone had to act fast to survive. The mission was thrown out, and survival took top priority. "Go, get as high as you can!" Brian ordered his comrades, "Climb, climb, climb!!"

"What? How will that help us?!"

"Damn it three, get as high as you can and eject before that hits us and you can't!"

The eleven remaining jets rose slowly into the sky as the deadly projectiles were heading their way. Just five more seconds and they'd hit…

"How do you know this will work, Marshall?"

"Those waves are EMP! They won't do anything to us personally if we eject, but those explosions will!"

Brian looked at his altimeter, reading angels eleven. The waves were here.

"Eject, eject, eje-!"

* * *

"What was that?! What happened?!"

"No response from the Falcon and Pitch Squads! All have disappeared from radar!"

Mattock stormed into the command room. "What the hell happened to them? What hit them?" he demanded from the officers. "Some type of EMPC according to Lieutenant Colonel Brian Marshall, as well as a highly explosive multiple warhead ballistic missile, probably similar to the ones used aboard Yuke sub-carriers!" Ross cursed. Eleven pilots… The war had been over, but now _this_…

"Send out a rescue team. I… I doubt that they'll… find anything, but do it…"

Men scurried all around Mattock as he stood rooted in place. It was up to him. This... thing, this _monster_, had to be stopped. And he had to choose the pilots he would send to die next.

The Commander grabbed a passing general by the arm and whispered simply, "Get me the… Bolt and Mobius pilots immediately… Ready every single squadron for code red sortie and combat."

The general was astounded. "E-ev-every… every squadron, sir?" he stuttered as Mattock rushed away. Angry, Ross whirled around and shouted, "Yes general, _every_ squadron!! Have them armed and ready to launch in thirty minutes or so help me we're all _dead_!!"

* * *

"Man, what about the party?"

"James, just be quiet."

"Hey man, the war's over, so why another meeting?"

"Ericks! Shut up already!"

The Bolt pilots walked into the briefing room, Ericks complaining the whole way there. Already present were the Mobius pilots and Commander Mattock. No one looked in the mood to party like James was. Even his expression sobered when he saw the others. Aaron worried about what message Mattock was just about to tell them.

Ross nodded to the five as they entered and beckoned them to sit. They did, and the Commander started explaining why they were assembled.

"Pilots, please give me your undivided attention. Well… all hell has broken loose. At 0746 hours today, our Sonnatrac Radar operators received a return the likes of which we had never seen before. At 0800 hours they determined that the object was traveling at a steady pace of around four to five hundred miles per hour. Its radar cross section reveals that the object is massive, at least a mile wide and long. Now, with tensions as high as they've been today, what with the last five Starfighters being destroyed and Erusea still not surrendering, any occurrence is critical at this point.

At around 1300 hours, while you, Lieutenant Colonel Makari, were engaging the SFs, the target stopped in mid-air just off the Forcaire Islands and launched a MIRV missile. The islands… erupted in ten separate nuclear detonations. Those islands were crucial ports for ISAF navy vessels. We lost not only the harbors there, but also… every single inhabitant. The islands themselves no longer exist. All have been effectively… _sunk_ by the detonations. At 1324 hours, the target was labeled 'hostile' and a 'superweapon of mass annihilation.' The main missiles it uses are obviously MIRV separable nuclear warhead missiles. The space in time between the craft coming to a stop and launching the missile was five minutes. Perhaps the craft needs this long to prepare to fire a missile. At 1336 hours, it was determined that the craft had ceased moving, waiting for escorts to arrive.

In this time, we sent the Falcon and Pitch Squadrons to identify and destroy the craft. All… all were shot down by a combination of burst missile impacts and EMPC fire. These are attacks from Yuke burst missiles and Stonehenge turrets we're talking about here. The sortie of eleven aircraft was entirely wiped out from a hundred miles away…"

Mattock lowered his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look at the shocked and horrified faces staring at him.

"It's likely that this is the 'Megafloat' that the Star pilots referred to in their battle with you, Makari. Gentlemen, make no mistake, attacking this craft is suicide… but it must be done. The attacks it uses to wipe out aircraft are burst missiles and STN waves, or at least something similar. This means that an aircraft has nowhere to go to avoid being destroyed. A burst missile will obliterate anything under five thousand feet, while a wave from those turrets will fry your aircraft if you're above two thousand feet. Used together, these attacks form an inescapable airspace of death. This is what annihilated the Falcon and Pitch, and… we don't expect… any of them to return…"

There was an awkward silence in the room. Mattock could now not even make himself keep talking. The only thought that kept returning to his mind was, "How many of these men in front of me will not come back either? How many am I sending to their deaths? All of them?" He coughed, clearing his throat, and tried to resume speaking.

"We h-had… a Sierra… up, and well… th-th-they… took some scans…"

Ross shook his head, forced himself to concentrate on talking. He could not look at the dead men in front of him, whose faces were contorted in dread and pain from the appalling message so suddenly relayed to them. Their blood was already on his crimson-stained hands because they were here, receiving this mission. And he knew it.

"The Sierra has sent us the images it took," Ross managed to utter coherently, "Follow me to the next room over, please."

The pilots stood up slowly, some stumbling as if they had forgotten how to walk. They solemnly entered the next room, which was filled with computers, printers, and engineers. Mattock rushed over to a pile of pictures and snatched one up. He brought it over to the pilots. It revealed the top of Megafloat, or rather just the middle of the hull. Barely any parts of the wings had even fit into the picture. Still, it clearly displayed some of the craft's known features. There were the launch tubes for the burst missiles (two of them), there were six STN turrets, and… ten giant hatches—the coverings for the nuclear MIRV missiles.

"Ten… ten missiles!"

"Holy, man… one th-thousand nukes!!"

Everyone around the picture looked up and stared at Ericks. Richardson shook his head and corrected his math. "One hundred warheads. One _hundred_."

"Oh. Right… Still, damn… the damage they could do…"

"And that's why it must be stopped, gentlemen," Mattock spoke quietly, "At all costs." He ambled awkwardly to the center of the room and told the pilots the rest of the briefing.

"Gentlemen, we have little time. As we stand here idle the target moves on to its next target. Sonnatrac has predicted a course that will lead the craft straight to San Salvacion. The city is home to nearly a million people. We simply cannot allow the Erusians to continue on this genocidal mission of theirs. I mentioned earlier that escorts were gathering around it. Whatever has survived the war has flown to protect the craft. That's hundreds of fighters… And there you have it… the perfect suicide mission. With everything this craft's got going for it… I doubt you'll… (Mattock shook his head and abandoned that grim sentence) Though, every squadron we've got is preparing to fight this thing. Reinforcements will arrive to help you take down this bastard. Still… we don't know if any of you will get to Megafloat, or if you will return. We don't know if you'll survive that furball. We don't even know if Megafloat has a weakness… But there's one thing I can say for certain: if it does, then damn it, I know Makari will find it. There's nothing more I can say… and believe me, I wish more than anyone there was more I could tell you. It's all up to you now. This… this is Operation Catch the Lightning…! Good luck and Godspeed, gentlemen. Dismissed…"

As soon as Mattock finished and the pilots began filtering out of the room, Aaron walked up to the Commander and asked, "Sir, about the burst missiles… How wide an impact area do they have?"

Ross rubbed his chin while thinking, then replied, "Depends on the number of missiles in the warhead and where they hit. Certainly a few miles max, I'd say. And, for all I know, that could be an understatement. Sorry I can't be more helpful Makari."

Aaron smiled and put his hand on Mattock's shoulder, shaking him a little. "Come out of it, man. You've been plenty helpful. We'll destroy this thing. I won't let it fire another one of those damn missiles. And what I say I'll do, I'll do!"

Ross grinned a little. "I wish I could be that damn optimistic Makari. Good luck out there. Prove those Star pilots wrong again." Aaron walked towards the door, and Mattock remembered he still had something he wanted to say. He shouted, "Makari! You're going to be promoted for defeating the Starfighters! Don't make us give you two ranks instead of one! Come back alive!"

"You know I will!" Aaron gave him a thumbs-up and laughed as he left the room.

* * *

"Attention pilots, this is AWACS Sky Eye, do you read?"

Aaron looked quickly around him at the seventeen aircraft in the formation, himself not included. He grimaced; for some reason he could only think about how there were this many pilots in the Mobius Squadron at the beginning of the war, eighteen. Now there were thirteen. He had nothing to take his mind off the death that awaited them, because no one had broken the silence but Sky Eye since takeoff.

"The target is turning towards the mainland. It has now made its final turn towards San Salvacion… We must stop it before it gets feet dry."

Of all the pilots, only Aaron was not exactly thinking about the impossible task that lay before him. He was still working out everything in his mind, his plan to evade the fatal shockwaves and explosions that would be coming soon. Would they get in range? Or would they end up like the Falcon and Pitch…?

"Target moving at steady four hundred miles per hour. Expected time to intercept, twenty minutes; range, two hundred and thirty-five miles. You are all in presumed effective range… be alert."

Effective range. The words rang in Makari's ears like a gunshot. How close had the Falcon and Pitch been? A hundred miles? Two hundred? Would it matter…? Perhaps the enemy had waited to ensnare them so that none could escape. Aaron smirked. This trap would not work on him! It was sheer folly for the craft's operators to allow the SF-9 to come closer to Megafloat each passing minute, and an extra advantage in Bolt 1's hands. He knew that he could make it. More time passed, and they were now just two hundred miles from Megafloat.

Finally it had come. Sky Eye screamed his warning to the pilots, "Incoming from Megafloat!! STN and burst missiles!! Take evasive action immediately!!"

The tense tranquility was shattered, and the others shouted out cries of terror and hopelessness. But Aaron was ready… his brow furrowed in concentration, and he pushed the throttle as far forward as it would go. The throttle had a locking mechanism that kept it at mach 4.5 normally, but Aaron unlocked it and pressed it still further. Now was the time for the plan to be tested.

"Dive, dive! Follow me and get as fast as those damn engines will allow!!" Bolt 1 grunted to his befuddled comrades. The SF-9 had not been pushed this far yet by Makari—the speedometer was at the very utmost extent. The entire formation descended below two thousand feet, which the pilots knew was suicide, but they were too busy trying to keep up with the Starfighter to question Aaron's logic. The Syphoners, however, were no match for the SF's unbelievable top speed of mach 5, and rapidly fell behind.

"Damn it! They aren't going to make it!" Bolt 1 cursed. There was nothing he could do for them; they would have to fend for themselves. Sky Eye then began counting down the seconds until the time when Aaron's theory would be either proved or incinerated in flames.

"Ten seconds to impact! Eight! Seven! Six! Five!"

Aaron squeezed his eyes shut and whispered a prayer, that the ploy would work, that the others would be safe.

"Please… please let them ("Four!") survive…! Don't… don't let me ("Three!") be the one who led ("Two!") them into certain ("_One_!") death!"

"_IMPACT_!!"

Makari neither heard nor saw a thing; granted, the latter because his eyes were still closed. He opened them and jerked his head back. There, miles and miles away, the STN bursts and missiles had exploded. He was safe… but there was no sign of his wingmen. "They must have been right in middle of that…" Aaron cursed again, but he knew he couldn't do anything for them here. He had to keep going or die himself. The only thing he could do for them lay ahead. He faced forward, and then… he saw _it_.

A gargantuan craft enraptured Aaron's vision and wonder. Dull brown wings, humongous appendages scratching at far away clouds, had fastened themselves to the beast's dull brown torso. The resulting monstrosity, most definitely a mile long, blotted out the miniscule sun behind it, plunging the SF-9 into a rust-red shadow. The only light under the beast's wings was that of the enormous engines that were perpetually spewing orange and white trails of fire out of the craft, nearly reaching the waves thousands of feet below. At the top of Megafloat's hull, Makari saw several large gun turrets, outlined against the sunlight and the engine flames. They were pointing at him.

"Oh… shit!" Aaron didn't let off the throttle just yet. He realized he was well over two thousand feet when the turrets fired. The SF dived, ducking under the shockwaves just in time. Bolt 1 released his death-grip on the throttle, which slid back to mach 4.5 by itself. Here, he was safe… from Megafloat.

"There he is! That's the ISAF bastard, that's… that's the SF-9!! K-keep him away from the mother bird at all costs!"

Now the sheer number of escorts became all too apparent to Makari. The swarm had been sheltering from friendly fire under Megafloat's mighty wings, but now they creeped out one-by-one, like an unending stream. Bolt 1 knew he stood no chance by himself for very long, even in the SF. If his friends were all annihilated, then he… No! He did not want to think like that…! There was no time to waste, none to think; ARMS had already activated, and that soft voice chanted its warning of inbound long-range missiles. Aaron fired four of his own long-range missiles before rushing out of the way of the inbound projectiles. Each of his R-236 'Facets' connected with their targets, but five more jets rose for each one he downed.

"Oh, this is going to be great fun…" Makari muttered. He noticed that, despite its supercruise ability, the Star was draining fuel at such constant high speeds. Aaron reluctantly pulled back the throttle and disengaged the afterburner. Speed would be his friend in this fray… but what now, after it had deserted him?

Missiles, bullets, and fighters whizzed by the SF-9 on all sides. Some projectiles detonated nearby, sending a shudder through the Star. Already bandits were turning to get on Aaron's six o'clock. Now, now was the time to act. To _do_ and _then_ die!

"I've got no choice," Bolt 1 chuckled to himself, "Damn it all…! I don't have nearly enough missiles to shoot them all down… Let's dance boys and girls!!" He jerked the controls back and forth, dodging missiles and planes left and right. Jets trailing him were hit one after another by their comrades' own shots and went down in flames. All the while, Aaron was scanning Megafloat for a possible weakness… on a craft this huge, there _had_ to be one!

"There's no way! How am I supposed to check this entire thing by myself?!" Makari furiously yelled. And then a voice on the radio laughed at him, saying, "No way? Alone?! That's not the Aaron _I_ know!"

"Gees guys, your lead gives up way too easily."

Aaron searched all around, trying to find who was speaking. He knew the voices…!

"Angel 3 here, more bandits approaching! Keh! _Lightning bolts and ribbons_!"

Now Bolt 1 saw: his squad and the Mobius had made it through after all! His plan had worked! "Oh my God… Give me a heart-attack, why don't you guys…" he whispered, relieved. The ISAF fighters cut through the bandits, downing a few as they flew to Aaron's side. "You okay, man?" "Fine! Well…. for now, anyway…" "Heh heh, good enough! Let's clean house, guys!" The pilots formed a V formation, sweeping bandits out of the way with Vulcan fire. They zoomed up over Megafloat's wings, at which point the turrets opened fire again.

"Whoa there! Mobius 3 to Sky Eye, where are the reinforcements?"

"En route! Hang in there!"

"Roger, just make sure some of them bring bombs for these damn weapons!"

The formation scattered to not draw fire to one place; Aaron broke right, towards the burst missile launch tubes. "Oh, what have we here? Some _damned missiles_…" He jerked the flight stick and throttle back, looping in a small circle, and then attacked from above the launch tubes. There were two, and missiles were probably hoisted into each one then fired. "Too bad Megafloat! Fox 2, fox 2!" Two more of Aaron's missiles shot straight down through the tubes, erupting in the missile storage room.

* * *

"Shit! This is control room C, we've taken a major hit! All burst missiles are down, repeat, we're finished over here! Evacuate, evacuate, the fire's spreading!!"

In the main control room, Aleksei cursed and screamed at the ISAF fighters whirling around Megafloat with seemingly total impunity. "Hit them! Why can't you shoot them down?! Are there not _hundreds_ of fighters out there, with Stonehenge too?!"

As Kiril vented his rage, a RIO stood up and exclaimed, "More inbound aircraft! One group of twenty-one aircraft, another of thirteen! Recommend fire immediately!" Another cried out in terror, "A flight is coming down from Scandy Air Base! Seventeen fighters! I knew we should have nuked them!!"

The room plunged into chaos, until Aleksei bellowed, "AND WHAT CAN THEY DO?! They will never destroy us!! _Never_! … Focus STN fire on incoming flights. It's as simple as that! Do you not realize? Megafloat is invincible, and we shall show them all!!"

* * *

"Well done so far! Reinforcements will arrive in twenty or so minutes… Hang in there!"

Aaron barely heard Sky Eye's encouragement. He was weaving between the turrets of Stonehenge, attacking the plates covering the MIRV missiles. "Fox 2!" "Negative Aaron, it's not doing anything!" "Does anyone see any openings or something somewhere?!"

The pilots' brief hope had flickered and died. They were losing planes, and still no potential weakness had been discovered. Was there really any hope left?

Of course there was. Fighters could easily close in on Megafloat now that it only had Stonehenge to defend itself. Aaron took a deep breath and summoned all his remaining strength. He had seven missiles left, enough to do considerable damage to the MIRV missiles… if he could just get to them! Suddenly, Makari noticed that the STN turrets were no longer firing at them, but at the approaching squads. And the beast's escorts, who had hidden under the wings again, emerged once more to surround the ISAF pilots, their numbers now reduced to just twelve.

"Evade, all aircraft, evade!" A barrage of missiles took the pilots by storm. Among the hit was Arthur. "This is Bolt 3, I'm hit! Ejecting!" Aaron watched anxiously as his comrade punch out. He breathed a sigh of relief until he saw what looked like an Erusian fighter rolling in on Richardson, going to rake him with machine gun fire. It was a blue F-18.

"Oh no you don't, bastard!" The SF-9 bore down upon the smaller Killer Hornet, piloted indeed by a Blue Angel. Bolt 1 shot the fighter's wing clean off with his Titan machine gun. Arthur drifted slowly down and down, out of sight, while the F-18 spiraled down and imploded.

"Damn… How many are left of us, Sky Eye?!"

"Nine! Bolt 3 and 5 have been shot down, as well as several Mobius pilots! You must survive, reinforcements are just fifteen minutes away!"

"In _five_ we'll all be dead!"

The pilots reformed so they could cover each other. By then they had searched much of the top of the hull, as well as some parts of the wings. They headed as a group to look on the sides.

"Incoming bandits, twelve and six o'clock. Evade their shots and let 'em shoot each other down, damn it."

The ISAF pilots stiff-armed a formation of dozens of Erusian jets, breaking and passing through them at the last moment. Several bandits were hit by the others' missiles and a few collided. Still, the ISAF jets were far, _far_ outnumbered.

"Man, can't those guys be a bit more punctual?! Where are the reinforcements!" "Ten more minutes! Just ten more minutes!"

Aaron and his wingmen evaded a group of planes, glanced at Megafloat's side, avoided more missiles and jets, took another look… finally, they noticed something. "What is that giant thing?" "Some sort of hinge? Loading bay maybe?" The pilots did not know it, but they had found their godsend; the port side airbrake, covering the hallway that led to the MIRV missiles. Unfortunately, it was closed while Megafloat was still moving.

"Five minutes until reinforcements arrive! Megafloat is currently one hundred and fifty miles from the coast!"

The ISAF fighters suddenly noticed that a large group of bandits had clustered at their six, and none were attacking from the front. They opened fire, and the Bolt and Mobius broke off in different directions.

"Separate them and annihilate them all before their reinforcements arrive!" Aaron stared around him and realized they all had made a mistake by breaking formation; each ISAF jet was surrounded by at least ten or fifteen others! "Oh shit! Bolt 1, I'm completely defensive!" For all the mobility of the SF-9, the numbers of attacking bandits meant that some could stay on his tail while others waited for the Star to veer in front of their guns. Makari could not escape wherever he turned, and neither could the other pilots.

"Mobius 13 is down!" "We lost Mobius 5 too!" "Bolt 4, hit by gunfire, I'm out of here! Sorry Aaron!"

Bolt 1 had no choice. He risked throttling up again, using the SF's pure speed to evade the trailing aircraft. Once far enough away, he cut the power once more and braked the nine, fishtailing through a turn. The jet shuddered violently, but held together. Aaron was now facing down thirteen aircraft.

"Eat 30mm slugs, assholes!!"

The bandits scattered as the Titan machine gun roared to life, spewing bullets straight into the cockpits of four fighters. Bolt 1 didn't have time to check what happened to the bandits, he had to help his remaining wingmen! There were only six of them now, only six! More fighters were all over Ericks, and Aaron watched dismayed as thousands of tracers arced around his flailing F-25. He was taking hits, too many hits… in just a few seconds…! Aaron could not reach him in time…!

"And then Semenov's voice echoed down from the heavens, saying, 'Let justice be done upon they evildoers!'"

A hailstorm of Phoenix and AMRAAM missiles shot past Aaron, and they closed in on the bandits attacking Ericks, downing each and every one. Bolt 1 and 2 looked wildly around for the ones who had saved them, his eyes coming to rest on a formation he was never happier to see.

"This is Zwind 1! We have come to aid our comrades in the Bolt Squadron, as well as our allies! Aaron Makari, James Ericks, prove to us you are Sotorans and stop this beast!"

The first reinforcements had arrived! F-14s, F-25s, F-22s, F-15S/MTDs, and Su-37s from the mercenary Laikzwind, Sahlert, and Geseivell Squadrons were the first group to get there. The twenty-one aircraft split up and engaged the bandits assailing the Mobius pilots as well.

"Damn, I am glad to see you guys! Cover us!" "Of course. Semenov apologizes for his squadron's tardiness." "Man, far better here than not at all!"

The ISAF numbers were back up to twenty-seven, but they still had their formidable challenge, to stop Megafloat before it crossed the coastline (which was just about ten minutes away). The FEAF escorts had regrouped and attacked the new formation of Sotoans.

"Zwind 1 to all planes, clear a path for Aaron and James!"

Another barrage of long-range missiles shot forth from the mercenaries; they were probably out of the projectiles after that, but they did their job. Dozens more of Erusian fighters were hit and the rest had to evade yet again. Several ISAF pilots took the opportunity to close in on Megafloat once more.

"Damn we could use some bombs! How much longer until more reinforcements, Sky Eye?!"

"Next group will arrive shortly! First group with bombs will be there in eight minutes!"

"Christ! That's an eternity!"

The small swarm of ISAF jets flooded over the STN turrets and scanned the back of the beast. Several pilots attempted to fire projectiles into the engines, but lost them in the giant exhaust flames. The same was true for the engines on the bottom of Megafloat.

"There's nothing we can do here! Conserve your ammo!"

Grudgingly, the formation broke off the search and dodged STN fire while fleeing from the craft. They resigned themselves to defeating enemy fighters until the reinforcements arrived. Aaron himself preserved his seven missiles for the MIRV nuclear ones held by Megafloat. He switched to his Titan and prepared to take anyone who came too close. Several F-15s and F-16s fell prey to the Star and its allies.

"This is Omega Squadron! We're here to assist!"

The other ISAF planes watched as nine more joined them. Fully loaded, the Omega F-15S/MTDs were a great boon to the formation assaulting Megafloat's escorts, though they carried no bombs for the craft itself. Six more minutes would pass before they arrived. In the meantime, the aerial slaughter continued as more and more airplanes from both sides crashed in flames. Somehow the two remaining Bolt pilots managed to hold on, though Ericks had no more missiles and Aaron had run out of bullets. The Mobius pilots (technically pilot, as only Mobius 3 was not being shot down then) too were facing the same predicament. Despite the fact that the ISAF jets had made a serious dent in the enemy escort numbers, they were still overwhelmed. And Megafloat was now just one hundred and ten miles from the coast. Death crept ever closer for so many, yet so few knew it.

"Zenit and Buran Squadrons are just a minute away! Rapier and Halo Squadrons have lifted off, heading to intercept as well! A tanker is also making its way towards you all! Hold on, just hold on!"

Aaron grimaced; "Sure thing Sky Eye," he thought grimly, "I'll be holding onto my parachute if I don't get some more fuel soon." There never had been much hope, but even with reinforcements beginning to arrive in droves no one's spirits exactly rose, to say the least.

"This is Zenit 1! We've come to bomb, and bomb we will if you guys can cover us!"

"You heard 'em! Cover those guys!"

Combining, several squadrons headed back towards Megafloat. The Yuke pilots lined up on the Stonehenge turrets and strafed them with bombing runs as often as they could. One by one the turrets were being destroyed.

* * *

A large explosion above rocked the control room, and Aleksei was thrown off his feet. He struggled back up and yelled, "What in the hell happened?!"

"The STN turrets are taking fire! We're losing all defensive measures!"

Kiril cursed. The best superweapon in the world, a mass mobilization of escorts, and they were losing. Soon the ISAF would have the upper hand, if they didn't already. A fiercer battle than the one outside Megafloat raged inside Aleksei's head. He desired so strongly to witness his vengeance on the ISAF and Usea, but there would be no way to safely fly to each target. The XAM-100A was also burning fuel quite rapidly; no one had expected to stop and hover so often. The general's hand was forced.

"Prepare all MIRV missiles. Select mode two, launch each nuke separate from the others. Target ninety cities and bases anywhere on Usea except for Erusea, and obliterate them! We will launch every missile once we reach the coastline!"

* * *

"Last turret is done for, man! What now, bastards?!"

Every ISAF pilot watched with renewed joy as the final STN gun dropped and smashed into the hull of Megafloat. The battle had turned for the better now, and any planes arriving would not be plagued by any deadly fire. Still, the incoming aircraft were taking their time—too much time.

"This is Bolt 1, I'm flying on vapors… Where's that tanker, Sky Eye?!"

"Approximately six minutes to the northeast, Bolt 1. What are you going to do?"

Aaron didn't answer the AWACS, but shouted to his wingmen instead, "I'll be right back!" With that he turned and accelerated towards the tanker. No one was surprised; Makari had used the most gas running on mach 4.5. He cut the throttle back when he was two minutes from the KC-135 and drifted to it at a slow speed.

"Bolt 1, line up and steady yourself," came the commands of the plane's operator. Aaron pulled the Starfighter up behind the jet. Fortunately, the Star refueled via a boom, with which the tanker was equipped. Makari topped off, thanked the tanker dearly, and sped off to rejoin the battle.

The ISAF pilots refueled and began anew their search for a weakness. Still, their efforts proved fruitless. Long minutes passed, and more allies arrived, but nothing came up. The coastline was nearing; at Megafloat's pace, it would get there in about ten minutes. Time for the search had run out, and the time to act was now approaching.

"This is Viper 1, my squadron has gotten here at last!" "Wisna Squadron has come as well!" "Bombs aren't damaging the covers to those missiles at all! What do we do?!" "We've got these suckers now, they're running out of escorts!" "Sky Eye here! Fifty miles to the coast! Just fifty miles!"

The word 'chaos' couldn't begin to describe Aaron's mind at that point. Every second that ticked by tormented him, for he knew it only brought Megafloat's twisted mission closer to success. He weaved in and out of dogfights on his way around the XAM-100A once again, still finding nothing to help him. Closer and closer the beast came, until…

"Twenty miles! Twenty—wait, what? Megafloat… M-m-megafloat is slowing down!!"

It was true; the bottom engine nozzles swiveled forward to slow the craft and the side airbrakes stretched out into the air as if awaking from a deep sleep. Slowly but surely Megafloat decelerated to a hover. Visible white smoke rose from the MIRV missile launch tubes. _Something_ was happening.

"The missiles! Megafloat is preparing to launch all of the MIRV missiles at once!" Sky Eye bellowed to the pilots below. They erupted into chaos once more. "What?! What'll we do?!" "There's nothing we can do! There's nothing! Damn it all!" Minds and hearts raced while Sky Eye gave the final tally: "Nine missiles are preparing for launch! We've got five minutes to stop it or else it's all over!"

Aaron was near the right side of the beast when this happened, and what he saw he couldn't believe—he was not looking at the smoke from the missiles, he was looking at a hole behind the brake, a wide corridor that led somewhere. And just like that, it clicked. Sturmoff's confusing final words drifted to the front of his mind, finally clear and full of meaning. "_There is a corridor… leads straight to the missiles…_" This is what Viktor had meant. Then Makari heard a voice in his head (actually in his helmet, but it sounded like it was in his head). "Five minutes. Counting down." The Mission Intel screen had downloaded the information from Sky Eye and now displayed a timer on Bolt 1's helmet visor HUD. He wasted no more time.

"There! There's a passageway, I'm going in! Guys, stay out here and distract the enemy fighters!"

Makari jerked the flight stick to the left and dove for the gaping hole in Megafloat's side. As he increased speed to reach it, he realized that it was a tight fit for a fighter the size of a Star, that the corridor was semi-lit by florescent lights, and that bandits had noticed where he was going and were following him. "I've told you all a million times," Aaron muttered under his breath, "Never follow a Seraph…"

The trail of fighters plunged into the dimness of the passage, lead by the SF-9. Bullets flashed by from every direction; a brief glance around and Makari realized that he was surrounded on all sides by machine gun nests. The jets behind him were firing too. He heard several rounds slice into his fuselage. "Damn, guess I'll have to outrun them." Aaron pushed the throttle as far forward as he dared; there were curves in the corridor up ahead.

Before reaching the first turn, Aaron flicked the switch on the Star's instrument panel, changing the lights in the cockpit from red to blue. He would be able to see the color well enough in the gloomy lighting and it wouldn't distract him by standing out too much. He was ready for this challenge.

The first turn came up quickly, a smooth arc to the left. He took it easily, as did the jets behind him. More turns were up ahead, Makari noticed. Then he heard in his helmet, "Missile inbound… Missile inbound…" The bandits were firing at him in this confined space!

"Argh, damn it!" Aaron throttled up even more, hoping to outrun the projectile; there was absolutely no way he could avoid it any other way. The next turn was sharper than the first, and Bolt 1 was supersonic as he approached it. Nevertheless, the Star could handle such a petty thing, and maneuvered flawlessly through the section. The trailing planes struggled through it, and an explosion tipped Aaron off that one or more had crashed. The missile had also lost track at some point. A straightaway appeared, and Makari pushed the throttle up to escape and then decelerated for the next turn, a precarious ninety degree right one.

"Augh! I can't make it!"

Looking back, Aaron's eyes were met by more orange flames of a blast of a crashed fighter. More bandits emerged from the conflagration though, continuing their hunt for the Starfighter. All of a sudden, the SF-9 gave a shudder and a shriek of clashing metal tore through the cockpit. Makari's grip tightened instinctively to steady the rocking aircraft. Something had been shot off by the machine guns, though he had no idea what. The controls trembled in his hands, a sure sign that the jet had been unbalanced by whatever loss it suffered.

"Hang in there baby, just hang in there," Aaron cooed to his craft. More and more the metal screamed as bullets cleaved into it. Questions drifted into Makari's head: how long was the tunnel? How long would the Star last under this fire? He only knew the second answer; it would last a damn long time. More bends came, and Bolt 1 raced around them, the pursuers still clinging to his tail.

"Oh shit, what is this?!" Makari cussed when he happened upon a divergence in the path. "Right or left, right or left… damn it! I'm going right!" The SF veered into another passage, one that seemed to slowly curve forever on to the right. There was something in the way up ahead… what it was Aaron could not see. He pulled up to fly over the objects, only to hit the ceiling with his fins. "Son of a-!" The steel wailed as it was dragged along the ceiling, but its pilot had no choice; even then it was a tight fit. Suddenly, Aaron realized what he was flying over: extra missiles. They were massive, certainly not burst missiles. He concluded that they had to be more MIRV missiles. There were more than even the ISAF had imagined…

"God damn… what were these people thinking?!"

The missiles vanished as Bolt 1 shot past them. He lowered his craft, finding the controls even more unresponsive. Still flying though, the SF wasn't going to quit without a fight. There were four minutes left, and the side corridor Aaron had taken was ending. He found himself back inside a larger passage, the main one. "This looks strangely familiar…" Sure enough, he came upon a choice of paths once again. "Damn it, did I just fly in a circle?! Left this time!" he dove into that pathway, the bandits still in hot pursuit.

Twisting this way and that, Aaron managed to get through a series of sharp turns in the left tunnel. The following planes were not so lucky, and several crashed into a wall or another jet. The lead bandit was still there, though, and the machine guns had never stopped firing. All of a sudden, Makari noticed, that bandit was firing another missile. "Shit, flares!" The countermeasures popped out and the projectile swerved for them, but it was too close. The SF took a near hit to the back of the plane and was more sluggish to respond to the controls. It was clear the Star was rapidly deteriorating under the constant barrage.

"I've gotta get that bastard off me…" Aaron muttered to himself. He conceived a plan and released more flares, blinding the enemy pilot. "I can't see a thing! Damn that ISAF—AAAHHH!!!" The bandit had clipped the wall and bounced off into the ceiling. Now there was nothing behind Makari but a fireball. Unfortunately, Bolt 1 had been distracted for too long by checking to see that the enemy crashed, and the Star drifted dangerously towards the wall. In milliseconds it happened. The left wingtip just scraped the side of the corridor, bouncing off. The tail end of the Starfighter fishtailed straight into the wall. A terrible screech and then another; the jet flung itself almost out of control.

"Whoa!! What the--ergh! What the hell happen--argh!"

Throwing a quick glance back, Aaron saw that his wings were not switchblading, even though he was well above the speed when that would happen. They had probably suffered the same fate as the SF-8's wings during its final battle. Why the SF was nearly bucking uncontrollably was beyond Makari. "C'mon baby, settle down… for the love of-! Stop shaking!!"

By then there were only three minutes left. Aaron had found that he could lessen the buffeting by decreasing the jet's speed—though he had no idea how fast he would have to go to get to the missile launch chamber in time. Reluctantly he drew the throttle back towards himself. The Starfighter steadied somewhat, yet it still seemed off balance. Whatever had happened, the onboard computers were completely misjudging the situation, or just couldn't correct it.

"Shit!" Aaron ducked; there were machine guns on the ceiling of the passage now, and he was taking fire through the cockpit canopy. A bullet struck the control panel and shorted some instruments out. The Mission Intel screen went offline (as did the mini-HUD on his helmet), the voice that read out warnings and such was silent, and altimeter and attitude readouts were fried. Worst of all, the radar died completely. Bolt 1 was flying completely blind.

"Oh, this is fucking wonderful," he uttered aloud. Dodging and weaving through dark passages, the solo pilot continued his mission. The deeper and deeper Aaron flew into Megafloat, the more hopeless the situation became. Perhaps Sturmoff had sent him into this passageway to ensure he couldn't stop Megafloat? Would the tunnel simply end? Makari prayed and prayed that it was not so. It was far too late to turn back. Bolt 1 drifted on, amidst a storm of tracers.

Unknown to Aaron, there were just two minutes left. The MIRV missiles were fully armed and aimed, now ready to be fired at their many separate targets. The next stage, beginning right then, was to ignite the missiles' engines and prepare for launch. At the last second the covers would be blown away and the rockets would fire, giving no chance for the above ISAF planes to attack them. It was up to Aaron, and Aaron alone.

At last Bolt 1 snapped. The never-ending corridors seemed to be just looping around and around themselves. He was determined to reach the end, wherever that was. Once more, though risking the SF ripping itself apart, he pushed the throttle forward and accelerated. Whipping around curves at mach 1.5, Aaron had no time to be amazed at how well the trembling Star maneuvered at this high speed. Left. Right. Left again. Right. Right. Roll to the left, then right. Straight… Time was running out. Faster, he had to go faster! Mach 1.6. Right, left. Mach 1.8. Left, left, straight, right. Mach 2. Straight, left, straight, left, right, right, left. Right, right, right… The turns perpetually stretched out before him, and he took them all.

There was just one minute left. Kiril Aleksei could taste his victory—ninety hot, vaporizing blasts of triumph. Far behind him, that lone jet raced against Father Time and Death themselves. Aaron was in another straight corridor, and he could see something ahead. Light, but also a larger room than the passage. He decelerated, awaiting to see what he had happened to find. The Bolt lead emerged into a gigantic room, flanked on two sides by five missile launch tubes on either side. The only entrance was the small passage Makari had flown through.

He had done it. He had reached the missiles! They were smoking, meaning the engines were already lit. They would launch any moment… "Not if I have a damn say!" Firing every last missile he had at separate rockets, Aaron knew he had ended it. The ICBMs erupted, and a conflagration flowed like molten lava out of the tubes and into the room. Aaron watched as the explosion grew ever closer towards his plane, threatening to swallow the tiny thing whole… when at last he noticed an empty tube. "The missile that was fired!! I can escape through there!!"

Once more he jammed the throttle forward and felt the engines kick into afterburner. The SF-9 zoomed for the empty space, accelerating like never before. "This is gonna be really tight…!" Aaron spoke through gritted teeth as he pulled back on the stick as hard as he could. The jet flipped skyward and raced up through the tube. The fire shot up the tube after the Star, reaching out with tongues of flame to try and drag it back down. But to no avail! The SF-9, grinding its wingtips into the sides of the tube, launched out from Megafloat at mach 4.

Megafloat itself seemed to glow eerily for a moment, and then, a piercing blast ran through the air. The beast erupted, whole chunks blown off by the escaping explosion. Makari gracefully arced the SF onto its back to watch the spectacle from thousands and thousands of feet above. Another intense shriek, and the right wing of Megafloat tore away; the fighters underneath it were crushed as it fell to the ocean, burning. The explosion reached the engines, and with a grand eruption the nozzles were obliterated. The craft splintered down the middle, and the halves drifted down, down into the waiting jaws of the sea. With a tremendous tidal wave, the XAM-100A collapsed into the water and began to sink. The beast sank to a watery fate miles and miles beneath the surface, taking its operators and hatred with it.

* * *

No celebration before or after could compare!

Every single soldier in Usea roused a cheer, Erusian or otherwise. The Yuktobanian Prime Minister and Commander Mattock were both waiting at Farbanti International Airport's hangars for two fighters. Hundreds of others were waiting inside and outside the fences, as well as beside the countries' leaders. They cheered themselves hoarse as the formation approached—a solitary Mobius F-25A spearheaded it, followed by some of the Sotoan mercenaries. Other squadrons came next; Wisna, Omega, Rapier, Vapor, Buran, Zenit, Halo, Viper… all those who had fought in that epic battle. Amongst the others were Erusian fighters. Dozens were destroyed immediately by Megafloat's implosion, and the rest had surrendered without a second thought.

And then, after the hundred or so aircraft had passed, just two more came. One was the heavily-damaged SF-9, escorted by none other than an F-25B. Aaron Makari and James Ericks had arrived last, the two most famous and highest scoring aces in the war. They landed first, while the mass formation above them split and headed for other airbases. Taxiing up to the hangar, Aaron couldn't help but ask Ericks about the damage. James had nearly laughed himself to death when he saw the Starfighter after it emerged from Megafloat, and he hadn't explained to Makari why he was laughing.

"Well man, you didn't get a scratch during the fight with the other Stars, yet here you are without part of your wings, especially a large chunk on that back one there… Your canard's got a huge hole in it, and your fins look like they got sanded off at the top. And you got hit by a missile in there, you said? Almost? Well, that explains the other fins and nozzles then…"

Aaron laughed and shook his head and decided he'd have to see for himself. When he jumped out of the cockpit, it was as Ericks said; the SF-9 was missing a great deal of its wings and fins. "That explains the balance problem… though just maybe," Makari chuckled. It was a serious problem for the mechanics, but it didn't matter to Aaron. What else could the Erusians chuck at him that he couldn't handle? Luck, skill… whatever it was that got him through Megafloat could get him through anything, he was sure.

The two, wearing the biggest grins they've ever worn, walked over to the applauding crowd. Mattock seemed to be almost sobbing with delight! "Gees, get a tissue man!" Ericks snickered at the Commander. Ross gave him a slight, friendly shove back. "Oh be quiet for once, you!" James laughed again. "Now? I don't think I'll ever be quiet again!"

"Really? Great, we're all doomed."

Aaron and Ericks turned to see who had spoken. A small part of the crowd had broken away and were now standing to the two's right. The person in front smiled as he stepped forward to shake the two's hands. It was Brian Marshall.

"Marshall! You're… alive!!"

"Well, that's a nice greeting," Brian joked. His squadron was the small crowd, and most of them had returned thanks to his quick thinking. Once the XAM-100A's fearsome arsenal had been destroyed, helicopters flew in and out rapidly to pick up downed fighter pilots. As many returned via copter as did in the formation that had passed overhead. The 4th Fighter Wing pilots grabbed Aaron and James and hoisted them onto their shoulders, carrying them into the buildings. They sang the Usean anthem the whole way, making it hard for Mattock to talk to the 'heroes.'

"Gentlemen! You did it, you did it! I knew you would! Erusea's fresh out of anything to do now, and all their leaders who were still loyal were aboard Megafloat! They're down and out, because of you! Makari, Marshall, you're both being promoted, remember? We already gave you the Swift Wings Medal, didn't we, Marshall? I think we did… Anyway! Enjoy the party you all! You've earned it!"

Ross turned to leave, and Aaron called out to him, "Wait! Aren't you going to celebrate with us all?! C'mon, Mattock!"

The Commander smiled. "No Aaron. I'll be here later, trust me. I wouldn't miss this for the world… but I've got to go for now. We're expecting Erusea's official surrender at any moment!"

Makari relented and waved to Mattock as he left. The Bolt pilot started laughing, he couldn't help it. A huge weight had slid off his chest, now that it was all over. They had won. _He _had won! It was over… the death, the destruction, the suffering, all of it done. Erusea had fallen at last.

"Well, Jones? Is this how you would have wanted it? What do you think, Yellow 13? Mobius 1? How do you think I did?" he chuckled quietly to himself.


	28. Chapter 28: The Fall of Erusea

* * *

"Then I saw an angel come down from heaven, holding in his hand the key to the abyss and a heavy chain. He seized the dragon, the ancient serpent… and tied it up… and threw it into the abyss, which he locked over it and sealed, so that it could no longer lead the nations astray…" – Revelation, Ch. 20: 1-4

* * *

On the sixteenth of January 2027, the New ISAF War, or, 'Second Erusian War,' came to a close. After the successful completion of New ISAF Operations 'Meteorologist' and 'Catch the Lightning,' the Free Erusian Republic agreed to an unconditional surrender to the New Independent State Allied Forces. The leaders of the Principality of Belka, left alone on the verge of annihilation at the hands of three superpowers, also surrendered a few hours later. The Independent Federation of Mattock, having exposed and defeated Erusea's plan for conquering the Usean continent and, ultimately, the world, assumed the name and position of 'ISAF' and set restrictions on Erusea. The nation, reliant on imports for nearly fifty percent of their military force, is now required to go through ISAF scrutiny and clearance to import or export any military weapon. In addition, ISAF has restricted Erusea from mass producing any version of their powerful Starfighter series. The plans for the Starfighter series were requisitioned and are now held in the Eiferstad National Archives in North Point. The two Starfighters' wreckages from the ones shot down over Farbanti were left to Erusian management. The SF-9 remains in passive ISAF service, assigned to 'Bolt 1.' It was heavily damaged during Operation Catch the Lightning, and was repaired at an EPI facility after the mission. The final five Starfighters remain on the Atlantic Ocean floor, undisturbed, having taken their pilots with them. Plans are underway for a commemorating memorial.

ISAF occupation of the country has begun, and will last until the new Prime Minister, Andrei Ermolai, establishes firm control. The minister in charge during the war was discovered dead in a bunker, wearing his best suit, a 9mm handgun at his side.

* * *

After the war, Commander of the ISAF Ross Mattock authorized the release of several documents pertaining to the New ISAF Bolt Squadron, the Erusian Seraph Squadron, and their involvement in the conflict. The official papers stated that all fifteen pilots in the 41st Erusian Tactical Fighter Squadron were shot down and killed in the Olim Ravine Incident, by the Aquila Squadron, on May 14, 2026. Another report detailed the recruiting of fifteen Sotoan aces into a new wing replacing those lost in the 98th ISAF Tactical Fighter Wing 'Geist' to the XAM-001 'Sphynx.' Five of these pilots, whose names are omitted in all of the papers whereas the names of the other ten mercenaries are present, became the Bolt Squadron that is today the pride of the ISAAF. The force behind the destruction of the 'Sphynx,' of the eight Starfighters, and of the XAM-100A 'Megafloat,' the Bolt Squadron pilots were decorated for distinguished service, their bravery, their skill, and their sheer will to persevere.

Commander Mattock only hinted at a connection between the Seraph and Bolt Squadrons during a speech at Forgetowne on January 23rd. He stated that the Bolt Squadron pilots were taught to act and fly much like several deceased Seraph Squadron pilots in order to confuse the Erusian pilots who had flown with the Seraph Squadron. Since that speech Mattock has denied any such ploy as nonsense.

The last recorded event in the history of the 41st Erusian Fighter Squadron was a formal event on May 14, 2027, a year after the Seraph pilots were shot down and killed. Several surviving members of the Erusian Red Devil and Blue Angel Squadrons erected a statue of a silver Seraphim with a golden eagle perched on its arm at Spire Air Base in Erusea, the squadrons' home. On the pedestal were inscribed the names of the fifteen pilots who had died that fateful day: Vincent Jones, Tyler Del, Jack Akers, Neil Rodin, James Ericks, Alexander Steele, Elliot Dunkel, Aaron Thatcher, Luke Calvert, Arthur Richardson, Dimitri Varya, Daniel Barr, Elijah Ipati, Ioakim Zivon, and Johnathan Davis. Curiously, after the statue had been revealed to the public and the event had ended, small pieces of masking tape were discovered covering five names on the statue. These names were James Ericks, Seraph 5; Aaron Thatcher, Seraph 8; Arthur Richardson, Seraph 10; Daniel Barr, Seraph 12; and Johnathan Davis, Seraph 15.

Also, in a bold move to honor these fifteen pilots, the new Erusian government decided to reestablish the Seraph Squadron with fifteen new members. In contrast, the fate of the Red Devils was not so light. A number of controversial attacks on civilian cities in Yuktobania and other where were blamed on the activities of the Devils. They were all dishonorably discharged by the new Erusian government. However, due to several civilian testimonies that no F/A-22 Raptors, the Devils' trademark aircraft, were seen anywhere over the attacked cities, a tribunal was unable to convict the fifteen pilots. Instead, all of the surviving Red Devils now live as civilians in Erusea, under house arrest by order of the new Prime Minister, and will do so for ten years.

* * *

On February 12, 2027, the new Free Erusian government put out the warrants for the arrest of several escaped Aquila Squadron pilots. Deresav Teawreh, Yellow 1, Giovanni Jennera, Yellow 8, Edvard Dominik, Yellow 11, Stepan Aricson, Yellow 14, and Anjel Akula, Yellow 16, are wanted by the ISAF Bureau of Investigation of International Criminals. Deresav's whereabouts are unknown. He is six feet three inches, with brown hair. He may be in Wocken or another Eastern Bannion Nation. Giovanni was last sighted in North Wocken. He is five feet eight inches tall, with dirty blonde hair. Edvard's whereabouts are also unknown, though he may be hiding in an Eastern Bannion Nation, most likely a FATO state or Gebet. He is six feet tall, with light blonde hair. Stepan is known to be in South Wocken. He is five feet six inches, with dark brown hair, nearly black. Anjel is located in South Wocken as well. She is five feet five inches, with long, brown hair. All suspects should be considered armed and dangerous. Should you encounter these suspects, do not approach them or attempt to detain them. Rather, if you or anyone else you know may have information that will lead to the capture of these individuals, contact your local authorities immediately.

* * *

After Free Erusea's official surrender on January 16th, the state of emergency level in Usea dropped two levels to 'Green.' The Sotoan mercenaries that had served on the New ISAF's side during the war began to return to their home nation by early February. A formal ceremony was held to commemorate the mercenaries' skill and assistance to the cause. Members of the Laikzwind Razor Wind, Sahlert Rapier, and Geseivell Tidal Wave Squadrons were honored for their part in Operation Catch the Lightning. Pilots devastated by the XAM-001 and Starfighter series, including the Vagrkeit Archangel, Sternlinach Starless Night, Emporuft Updraft, and Virdelzwind Whirlwind, were solemnly remembered by their surviving comrades. Most peculiar of all, the Bolt Squadron, long toted as mercenaries too, did not return to Sotoa. When Erusian officials raised questions about this, Commander Ross Mattock stated that the five pilots were Sotoan-_trained_ ISAF personnel. The whole matter of calling the Bolt Squadron members Sotoan was labeled as 'disinformation.'

* * *

The Osean Federation elected new President Paul Jameson and a new staff to replace those lost to fire from the XAM-001 in 2026. The Osean Army has begun occupation of South and North Belka, putting down riots daily. Several insurgent groups have broken away from the military and are trying to liberate their nation. However, all Belkan weapon and military production has been shut down, not to resume until the end of Osean occupation in 2035, and the rebels cannot secure arms, so they pose almost no threat to Osean control.

* * *

As tensions calmed between nations, and after the new Prime Minister was elected in Erusea, there was a convention at North Point in the city of Eiferstad between the leaders of the New ISAF and the Free Allied Axis Powers of Erusea and Belka. They collaborated on several projects, including a timeline of the war, a list of casualties, as well as other smaller efforts. A list of top scoring aces was compiled by the leaders of the Air Forces, with the award for most kills going to (deceased) Major General Zachery Taylor, known as Yellow 6 (Thus finally confirming the existence of the Aquila Squadron, whose entire being was flatly denied by the Erusian government during and after the war).

The men also discussed plans for rebuilding the cities destroyed by the XAM-001 and other attacks. Erusea's debt from the war, stemming from the cost of the XAM-001, the Starfighter series, the XAM-100A, and reparations, will likely not be paid in full even within the space of a hundred years. Belka's debts were incomparably less, as most blame for the destruction of Osean, Yuktobanian, and Usean cities was directed towards the XAM-001, as well as the Red Devil Squadron, for their controversial attacks throughout the war.

Following the convention, Commander Mattock stopped for comments for the media. He was asked to express his views on how the ISAF snatched victory from what seemed such a hopeless situation. His response was brief:

"Even the dimmest light can become the brightest star, when all else is dark."

* * *

What follows is the official timeline produced during the Eiferstad Convention. It has been declassified for the general public.

Clearance Level Green: _Declassified_

The Official Collaborative Timeline of the New ISAF War

2022 AD 

January 28 – Forty-five Erusian civilian pilots are recruited into a specialized military course for three elite squadrons: the 98th TFS 'Seraph,' the 328th TFS 'Blue Angels,' and the 66th TFS 'Red Devils.' They form the 13th Tactical Fighter Wing of the FEAF.

March – The construction of four super-battleships begins, the Erusian Tanager class, consisting of the _Tanager II, Nazianz, Orkan, _and the _Hypatia._ The class is named for the proud battleship _Tanager_ of the Aegir Fleet.

2023 AD 

August – Aquila (Yellow) Squadron reformation in Erusea begins.

March – December – Several peace ceremonies in Usea are attacked by Erusian terrorist group 'Warmongers.' These acts widen the rift between the ISAF who are told to be behind the attacks and the future formers of the IFOM.

2024 AD 

February 14 – Mattock and other officers of the ISAF military discuss rebellion from the corrupt government.

February 18 – Mattock leads a breakaway consisting of Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine operatives from the ISAF military. The 'Independent Federation of Mattock' is formed, as is its military, the 'International Forces of Mattock.' War is declared by ISAF.

February 19 – ISAF Operation Covering Fire begins, pushing back the IFOM.

April 23 – IFOM Operation Hiatus fails.

October 4 – IFOM Operation Prevailing Justice fails.

November 30 – ISAF Operation Sidewinder succeeds. Miles of IFOM territory captured.

2025 AD 

January 3 – IFOM turn down a demand for surrender, despite being nearly defeated. The Osean Federation and Union of Yuktobanian Republics join the war in IFOM's favor at the request of Mattock.

January 5 – The Free Erusian Republic and the Principality of Belka reveal themselves to be controlling the ISAF. More ISAF military men rebel against the now called 'Free Allied Axis Powers' of Erusea and Belka. Oseans are pulled out of Usea in Operation Patria to fight the Belkans.

January 12 – The Belkans commence Operation Wildfeuer (Wildfire) and push into Osea.

February 25 – The Oseans have entirely vacated Usea. The Erusian government begins funding for the construction of the 'Experimental Attack Mega – 001A Sphynx' in Operation Pharaoh.

March 21 – Osean Operation Spearhead fails. Oseans lose more ground.

August 3 – Osea deploys new F-25A Syphons. The powered up OADF sweeps aside Belkan opposition in Operation Siphon.

September 1 – The 'Sphynx' turret is completed. Trials begin immediately.

September 2 – The 'Sphynx' misses most of its targets during tests. A new radar is planned to solve the problem, called the 'Sonnatrac Alert and Search System.'

December 25 – Belkans have been driven back to their homeland. They initiate Operation Luft Zerstörung (Air Destruction) and attack OADF airfields.

2026 AD 

March 9 – IFOM Operation Assembly Line succeeds; an Erusian Pilot Industries factory is bombed. Of three Erusian 'Lone Star Project' prototype advanced fighter jets, only one escapes the plant. The other two are destroyed.

March 14 – The SASS is completed. The 'Sphynx' is trained on several air battles and on the 'Orange City,' capital of the IFOM forces. Nuclear and air strikes fail to damage 'Sphynx.' Decision reached by IFOM to retreat out of Usea.

March 21 – The Erusian Tanager class battleships _Orkan _and _Tanager II_ are completed.

April 16 – IFOM Operation Eden begins in the middle-south of Usea. Osean and Yuktobanian naval vessels transport IFOM troops and vehicles off the Usean continent. The 'Sphynx' harasses the convoy as far as the Verusan coast. Major Leanne Bridger, Blue Angel 7, is shot down and killed in battle by Lieutenant Colonel Brian Marshall, Falcon 4.

April 20 – Erusian Operation Electric Shuffle begins in Usea and Belka. More power and chemical lines drawn to the 'Sphynx' increasing its effective range. More SASS stations constructed to pinpoint targets anywhere in the world.

April 21 – The IFOM convoy arrives at Yuktobania.

April 26 – Operation Electric Shuffle has increased 'Sphynx' range to include the Osean continent. It is used to destroy Oured and kill most of the Osean governmental staff, including the President and Vice President of the Osean Federation, in Erusian Operation Distance Assistance. Osean forces thrown into disarray by lack of control and orders. Belkans begin Operation Dampfwalze (Steamroller) and occupy much of Osea.

April 28 – The Razgriz Tactical Air Command Squadron begins operating from Sand Island Air Base and terrorizes the occupying Belkan forces. Remaining Osean forces are spurred on to continue fighting. Belkans can not capture all of Osea.

May 1 – The Erusian Tanager class battleship _Nazianz_ is completed.

May 4 – The 'Sphynx' ceases fire on Osea and turns on Yuktobania. SASS-equipped ships patrol off the Yuktobanian coast, ensuring somewhat precise attacks. Thousands of civilians and military men and women are killed in the 'Sphynx' raids on cities. Belkans begin Operation Brennt Luft (the Air Burns) as they seek out and destroy Osean resistance.

May 14 – The Erusian Seraph Squadron decides to go AWOL in light of such attacks with the 'Sphynx.' They take off in F-4Es and F-5Es. The Aquila (Yellow) Squadron is launched to intercept the fleeing Seraph in Operation Fifteen Graves. Yellow Squadron Su-51 Night Ravens attack, shoot down, and kill all fifteen Seraph pilots.

May 16 – Elements from the Vagrkeit and Virdelzwind Sotoan mercenary Squadrons engage the Aquila Squadron in Yuktobanian airspace. The XAM-001 opens fire on the mercenary aircraft, annihilating seven aircraft, including the four Vagrkeit Squadron pilots.

May 20 – A Yuktobanian Scinfaxi-class submersible carrier, the _Deinfaxi_, begins Operation Sphinx, a series of daily burst missile strikes on the Erusian capital of Farbanti.

May 22 – The Erusian flagship of the Tanager class, the _Hypatia_, is completed.

May 25 – Five Sotoan aces are hired as mercenaries by the IFOM. They form the Bolt Squadron, taking their place in the recently annihilated 98th Tactical Fighter Wing. Others were also earlier recruited in Operation Transistor: the Laikzwind, Vagrkeit, Sternlinach, Virdelzwind, Emporuft, Sahlert, and Geseivell Squadrons. The IFOM is officially renamed the New ISAF.

May 26 – The 'Sphynx' is attacked by New ISAF Bolt, Falcon, and Pitch Squadrons in Operation Lion Hunting. They destroy it and manage to evade a counterattack by elements from the Aquila and Blue Angel Squadrons.

May 29 - June 1 – The Belkan Operation Dämonen Jagen (Hunting Demons) fails several times to shoot down and kill the Razgriz TACS pilots. Belka loses many aces to the Demons. Major Dalton Rhodes, Blue Angel 4, usurps command of his squadron, having been disappointed by his lead's judgment in battle. Lieutenant Colonel Karl Douglas, Angel 1, shot down and killed by Major Dalton Rhodes.

June 2 – The New ISAF have captured the Comona, Fort Grey, Skully, and Newfield Islands in Operation Pay Day. Tanager class _Nazianz_ sunk in battle. Retaking of North Point planned. Blue Angels called back from Osea to stop New ISAF attacks on occupied islands.

June 14-18 – The Red Devil Squadron goes on high alert, stopping attacks from ISAF-employed Sotoan mercenaries. One Devil suffers injuries and is temporarily put out of action, and Major Stuart O'Connor, Red Devil 8, is shot down and killed.

June 27 – North Point and the other islands off the east coast of Usea have fallen under New ISAF control. Oseans launch Operation Freiheit (Freedom), and invade their occupied homeland.

July 4 – The New ISAF begin Operation Fireworks, the invasion of Usea, by landing on the southern Crowne and Luther Beaches. The _Deinfaxi_ returns to Yuktobania for refitting and then continues Operation Sphinx off the west Usean coast.

July 10 - The Erusian government has begun removing the STN turrets from the deserted Stonehenge compound.

July 26 – The _Deinfaxi_ is captured during its burst missile attacks on Farbanti (Operation Sphinx) by an Erusian fleet containing the _Hypatia_.

August 15 – The New ISAF have forced the Erusian military further and further west in Operation Asphyxiation, and has recaptured half of Usea. Much of Osea has been recaptured by the Oseans, and the Belkans are in constant retreat.

August 28 – New ISAF forces have captured the destroyed Stonehenge and 'Sphynx' compounds. Six of the eight STN turrets are discovered to be missing. The New ISAF seize valuable SASS facilities. A new project, codenamed 'Angel Killer,' begins in Erusea, the production versions of the 'Lone Star Project' prototypes, designed to kill the Bolt pilots, believed to be members of the Seraph Squadron by Erusian squadrons.

September 9 – Oseans invade Belka in Operation White Storm.

September 30 – The first three Starfighters are completed in Erusea. Improvements are made and the next few Starfighters are designed. Belkans build the Osean-dubbed 'Production' and 'Munition' Lines in Operation Feuersucht (Searching Fire).

October 17 – The Erusians retreating before the New ISAF set up a final line of defense at Whiskey Corridor. Any and all forces are withdrawn from other positions further east on the continent and concentrated here for the ISAF attack.

October 28 – ISAF has stalled at the Whiskey Corridor defense, Erusian Operation Shellshock.

November 3 – Oseans stall at the Belkan Munition Line. Elements from the Osean Maelstrom Fighter Squadron are ambushed and annihilated by the Erusian _Hypatia_ battleship in Erusian Operation Turkey Shoot. The _Hypatia_ is sunk in battle. The Osean destroyer _Lacera_ rescues the only survivor from Maelstrom, First Sergeant Alaeith Metzger.

November 7 – 14 – An ISAF fleet blockades the Erusian Tanager class _Orkan_ at a port in South Wocken. The _Orkan_ escapes, but is pursued for a week by ISAF warships. It takes crippling damage, yet manages to sink seven ISAF vessels. The _Tanager II_ arrives to save her ailing sister battleship, and the ISAF fleet gives up the hunt.

November 16 – ISAF launch Operation Sever, the blockading of Farbanti. A sortie attacks and sinks the Erusian _Tanager II _and _Orkan_ battleships at their harbor in Operation Waterlog. Starfighters 4, 5, and 6 are completed. Osean forces arrive at the Production Line.

November 19 – ISAF forces break through the Erusians at Whiskey Corridor with heavy losses. Lieutenant Colonel Dalton Rhodes, Angel 4, is shot down and killed in battle by Lieutenant Colonel Brian Marshall. The ISAF stop to regroup.

November 25 – ISAF forces discover that the _Orkan_ was scuttled by the Erusians after Operation Waterlog.

November 28 – Oseans break through the Production Line and the unfinished Munition Line in Operation Picket Fence.

December 1 – ISAF surround Farbanti and initiate Operation Winter Thunder, Shock and Awe artillery attacks and then advancements on Farbanti. Oseans siege Sudentor and Dinsmark in Belka in Operations Southern Gate and Northern Gate.

December 12 – First attack on Farbanti. Starfighters 1 through 7 are complete and drive off the ISAF assault. The SF-2 is hit with a missile by Bolt 2. Colonel Jordan Nelson, Pitch 7, is shot down and killed by Colonel Zachery Taylor, Yellow 6. Major General Zachery Taylor is shot down and killed by Lieutenant Colonel Brian Marshall.

December 14 – The Erusian cargo plane from Wocken carrying a spare engine for the SF-2 is shot down by friendly fire.

December 20 – Starfighters 8 and 9 are completed.

December 21 – The second attack on Farbanti occurs. The SF-2 and SF-4 are shot down by Bolt 1, but the attack fails again. Colonel Ivan Mikhail and Colonel Zhurmik Behrendt do not eject out of their Starfighters. Dinsmark is captured.

December 22 – Starfighters 1, 3, 5, and 6 retreat to the Forcaire Islands southwest of Farbanti.

December 25 – The third attack on Farbanti. The SF-8 falls back to the island. The SF-7 remains to fight but is shot down. Its pilot, Colonel Dieter Rote, is killed. Farbanti falls to ISAF forces, but Erusea refuses to surrender. The SF-9 is discovered undamaged in a hangar and assigned to Bolt 1. The Erusian pilot for the SF-9, Colonel Gregory Asche, is found dead, killed by ISAF bombings.

December 28 – New General of the Erusian Air Force Kiril Aleksei escapes Farbanti and travels to the XAM-100A's construction site. Erusian Prime Minister later discovered dead in a hidden bunker.

**2027 AD**

January 2 – Erusian resistance in Farbanti persists, but is defeated. Erusea does not surrender, as its leaders are not captured.

January 14 – Bolt 1 locates and shoots down the last five Starfighters in Operation Meteorologist. Ex-General of the Erusian Air Force Viktor Sturmoff, Colonel Afanasi Borislav, Colonel Timothy Sanders, Colonel William Zumtod, and Colonel Conrad Edith all perish. The XAM-100A 'Megafloat' launches in Erusian Operation Final Destination. It is detected and tracked by ISAF-controlled Sonnatrac Radar stations. Megafloat destroys the Forcaire Islands with a nuclear separable-warhead MIRV missile. The Falcon and Pitch Squadrons are sent to intercept the craft, but are all destroyed by its STN turrets and burst missiles. Later that day, the Bolt and Mobius Squadrons attack and destroy Megafloat in Operation Catch the Lightning. Many of the ISAF planes are downed by the craft and its escorting FEAF squadrons. Bolt 1 flies inside it and attacks its missiles before it could launch them at ISAF control points on the continent. The Erusian leaders aboard Megafloat all perish. The remainder of the FEAF is wiped out in the explosion.

January 15 – Andre Kilroy, second in command at the construction site of the XAM-100A, is captured and detained by ISAF personnel as he tries to escape to Wocken. Several other Erusian generals are killed as well when Kilroy's small private vessel tries to run through an ISAF blockade and is fired upon by a destroyer.

January 16 – Erusea finally surrenders to the ISAF and Yuktobanian forces. The Principality of Belka also agrees to a cease-fire with the Oseans. The Oseans move into the southern Belkan capital and occupy the country.

January 24 – New Erusian Prime Minister Andrei Ermolai is elected. New Osean President Paul Jameson and other officials are elected.

January 29 - February 2 – The members of the Red Devil Squadron are put on trial for war crimes. After a four day trial, they are not convicted due to a lack of evidence. Civilian accounts state that the attacks were carried out by aircraft with bright yellow markings rather than red. A testimony given by Lieutenant Colonel Brian Marshall greatly damaged the prosecution's case when it was revealed that the Red Devil leader had attacked another Free Erusian Air Force pilot in defense of the ISAAF's own pilot. Dissatisfied officials decide to dishonorably discharge the pilots anyway on the second of February, and forbid those aviators from ever flying for the FEAF again. The pilots are placed under house arrest for ten years by order of the new Minister on the same day.

May 14 – Surviving Red Devil and Blue Angel Squadron members dedicate a statue to the deceased Seraph pilots at Spire Air Base, those squadrons' home during the war. The Red Devil members are allowed by the Prime Minister to leave their homes for this one special occasion.

* * *

A little something extra, courtesy the wonderful folks at Eiferstad…

Welcome to the Eiferstad National Archives! Please select a topic from the list in order to retrieve stored information.

-Military/Armed Forces

--Air Force

---Weapons, Equipment, and Vehicles

----Fighter Aircraft

-----Declassified Information

------Blueprints

Osean Aircraft

- F-25A Syphon: http://img299.imageshack.us/img299/2371/f25aoutlinemm1.png

- F-25B Syphoner: http://img299.imageshack.us/img299/1860/f25boutlineko7.png

Erusian Aircraft

- Su-51 Night Raven: http://img259.imageshack.us/img259/6370/su51outlinesc1.png

- SF-9 Starfighter (Due to the nature of ISAF restrictions regarding this aircraft, the blueprints are incomplete): http://img177.imageshack.us/img177/3025/sf9outlinepg5.png

Belkan Aircraft

- BF-7 Spiter (Ärgerner): http://img259.imageshack.us/img259/1452/bf7aoutlinesp5.png

- BF-9 Blizzard (Schneesturm): http://img177.imageshack.us/img177/346/bf9outlinejk8.png

- BA-28 Tsunami (Riesigwellen): http://img299.imageshack.us/img299/2509/ba28outlineto2.png


End file.
